


patchwork tales

by adriatic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Coming of Age, Developing Relationship, Drama, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Fantasy, First Meetings, Fluff, Friendship, Growing Up, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, High School, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Light-Hearted, Musicians, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slice of Life, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Unresolved Romantic Tension, You Should Have Come to Shiratorizawa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25292281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adriatic/pseuds/adriatic
Summary: A collection of all the old Haikyuu one-shots on my deviantArt but rewritten (strong emphasis), moved here. Some of this will be lighthearted, some of it on the angsty side. Each of these have their own fleshed-out story (no drabbles/pure fluff), and you the reader will sometimes have a set background/personality. I will be noting in the chapters the appropriate tags. None of the one-shots are related to each other in any way.*oct 2020 update: now also including recent one-shots i've written. not taking any requests. updates are sporadic.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Reader, Bokuto Koutarou/Reader, Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Reader, Tsukishima Kei/Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader, Yamaguchi Tadashi/Reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 187





	1. of doodles and sketches. (ushijima wakatoshi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmates are something Ushijima isn’t interested in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a soulmate au where whatever you write on your skin shows on your soulmate's. only catch is, proper names can't be shown.

Soulmates are something Ushijima isn’t interested in. 

Not even because his parents are divorced, which was considered rare. But things like romance, even friendship to a certain extent, Ushijima paid no attention to. 

He has other things he’s striving for, anyways. Such as representing Miyagi at Nationals. Eventually winning said Nationals. One day playing for the national team. Then the Olympics. His mind is filled with volleyball and volleyball only. 

Though, it’s not like he disliked you. 

He's in calculus right now, the teacher droning on about equations he tried paying attention to, but ultimately, could not. He stopped taking notes 40 minutes into the class, his eyes settling on a common bird on the windowsill. Eventually, it flies away, and he then focuses on the row of neatly-trimmed hedges down below. It’s not that interesting. 

In short, he’s bored.

It’s not like he didn’t get good grades. Being in an elite school such as Shiratorizawa demanded each individual to excel in classes, even if you got accepted as an athlete. But he tended to focus on other things during school hours.

He shares this class with Semi, who isn't faring so well either. Ushijima catches the setter just about to doze off before a screech of his chair jerks him awake. Semi groggily rubs his eyes, and then quickly glances around to see if anybody noticed. Nobody else did.

Without warning, a thick, brown line emerges from the crook of his elbow, snaking all the way to his wrist. From there, thinner brown lines erupt along the main line, forming small branches. Today you seemed to be in the mood for drawing cherry blossoms, as the petals of the widely-recognized pink hues of the flower bloom on the surface of his skin, accompanied by budding leaves.

He always looked to your drawings to keep him entertained through school hours. There was never a day when your little doodles and sketches disinterested him, which ranged from small sketches of people’s faces to nondescript creatures. One time there was a ghost that popped out of a soy sauce bottle, which he found strange but somewhat endearing.

When he arrived at practice, the team always rushed over to him and Ushijima would show off his doodle-covered arms with a small sense of pride welling up in his chest - the works of his soulmate are well received, no matter how random they may be. Tendou seemed to be the most interested, each day taking pictures of his arms and oohing in delight. Ushijima thought little of such an act, thinking Tendou's appreciation for manga and anime extended to the broader scope of art as well. 

That was the extent of his connection with his soulmate. Rarely did he ever write anything on his arms - some people tried to start conversations in an attempt to find the other person. Back when he was younger, he had written a couple messages to you, but now he never found the time nor interest to do so. For all he knows, you lived somewhere out in Brazil. And based on what appeared on his arms, you two had no overlapping interests. (read: volleyball).

However, something new happens today.

After adding the final touches of light pink, you write "volleyball practice" with a lazy flourish.

Ushijima’s right arm was normally a schedule (he presumes you're ambidextrous) and a busy one it was. Homework, coffee shop, library, art store and shoppijg mall are the ones that are commonly written. Importantly, nothing physically-exerting ever appeared. 

So seeing something sports-related, and of all things, volleyball, surprises him.

Though his face still holds the same stoic look.

His thoughts drift to the volleyball court. He immediately rules out you being a player, since this is the first time he’s seen the words. The period to join a club is already long passed, at least at his school. He hopes you aren’t living overseas. The conclusion he arrives at is that you know somebody on the team, and have decided to watch their practice session.

(a small part of him wonders which team, and whether he could beat them).

After another normal school day, he starts walking to the gymnasium. Many students gawk at him simply because of his height, some excitedly sharing loud whispers with their friends at seeing the prized ace and captain of the volleyball team. Some are even pulling out pens and scribbling on their skin to see whether or not the marks appeared on his (which they don’t).

He’s quite used to this behavior and doesn’t pay it any attention, though he sometimes wishes there weren’t that many people blocking his way. It makes him late to practice.

He arrives at the gym, the four nets already set up by the underclassmen. Some players are warming up their attacks and serves. After Ushijima changes into his practice clothes, he starts his jogging laps around the court.

10 minutes later, the double doors to the gym open again. Tendou, who had been jogging alongside and chatting amicably with Ushijima about his day, suddenly stops, eyes widening. He excitedly waves at the girl who walks in, who looks quite out of place with a sketchbook and camera in hand. Her left arm is covered in a large doodle, but her right arm is devoid of markings. 

When Ushijima sees her face, an indescribable force suddenly comes over him. For a single moment, he feels such a strong pull towards her that his left hand twitches, reaching out for her. It felt natural to him, to be next to her, just like how the lines and ridges of a volleyball naturally fit the palm of his hand.

And then the moment passes; his feet are unfrozen from the ground, he starts jogging. Tendou had went to the doors and is now chatting with the girl.

_What was that?_

Tendou ushers (half-pushes) her all the way to the second floor of the gym where spectators sat, still talking to her about something. She takes a seat and pulls out a pencil case from her bag.

“Let’s have a good practice today!” Tendou exclaims as he rushes back down to the gym, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“You’re energetic today,” Ushijima states. Not that Tendou was ever not a cheery and talkative person, but his actions today are even more dynamic than usual. 

"Let's just say that the amazing Tendou Satori has some amazing plans planned out!" He flashes his signature jazz hands at the ace.

Practice goes like normal, save for the occasional click of the shutter from the girl’s camera. Ushijima’s mind keeps wandering to her when he’s waiting for somebody to serve. Why was she here? Did Tendou invite her? Or – was Tendou her soulmate?

He catches a glance at Tendou’s arms, which are bare of any markings, and a strange wave of relief washes over him.

“Waka-kun, I didn’t know you liked my biceps!” A very rude voice interrupts.

Ushijima pays no attention to the comment, and spikes Semi's set using just a little more force than expected. It bounces on the ground and just narrowly misses the girl on the rebound. She looks up from her sketchbook in shock, and for a brief moment, her eyes meet Ushijima’s olive ones.

A sudden bolt of electricity runs down his spine, shocking each of his nerve endings. He freezes up as he lands on the ground.

_Strange. Why is my condition like this today?_

“Ushijima-senpai!” Tsutomu approaches the ace during break, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. “What do you think of the girl on the bleachers?”

“She looks average to me,” Ushijima replies, taking a large gulp from his water bottle. “Why?”

He is certainly not about to reveal the galactic pull he experienced when he first laid his eyes upon her, since he can’t even begin to explain how that felt. 

“I think she’s kinda cute!” Tsutomu says in a loud whisper, glancing at the girl, who’s currently looking at something on her camera.

A strange sense of protectiveness, and even hints of jealousy, stir inside of Ushijima. But why? He doesn’t even know her name.

“You’re not her soulmate. You have no markings on your left arm, yet hers is covered,” Ushijima points out. "Aren't thoughts like those useless?"

“Was that bluntness really that necessary, Ushijima-senpai? Even if what you’re saying is true, that hurts a lot!”

“I am just stating what I believe to be true, Tsutomu.”

Ushijima looks to the bleachers, seeing Tendou talking with her. Her cheeks are dusted in a light pink. The strange feeling washes over him yet again – what was with these feelings today? 

But he can't argue with Tsutomu's previous statement, she did look kind of cute. The way her head tilted back slightly when she laughed made Ushijima’s heartbeat just slightly faster. 

And while he couldn’t quite clearly make out the designs on her arm, he too has a large doodle on his left arm.

The harsh shrill of coach Washijo’s whistle intrudes his train of thought. The team regroups on the court and Ushijima’s mind is focused on only one thing.

Every set he receives, he spikes with such force it slams on the gym with an earth-shattering power. If at practice he usually gives his 100 percent, today he gives his 110 percent. The cherry blossom branch on his arm strangely seems to be giving him more power. Perhaps he’ll request his soulmate to draw another branch.

All of this, to just catch another glimpse of the girl. 

But she never looks at him again.

* * *

Soulmates are something Ushijima finds strange.

He’s also somewhat frustrated at the lack of knowledge he has of that girl.

Right now, he knows her name is (Name), for some reason Tendou never said her last name, who came to practice each day to draw the team for an art project, and knows Tendou well, but Ushijima is unsure of their connection.

While they didn’t share the same arm markings, sometimes people lose that shared connection when something fatal happens to their soulmate, or when the two grow farther apart (like his parents). When this happens, there is no second connection to another person, as if the universe is telling them to live free and make their own decisions.

So, he couldn’t rule out the possibility of them being romantically involved. He's never seen her in school talking to Tendou, so that theory doesn’t make sense. However, when she arrives, Tendou is always the first to greet her with a bright smile. She returns the gesture by giving Tendou a quick pat on the shoulder before sitting down at the second floor. 

There were also countless more times when she made him lose focus.

For example, one time during a 3-on-3 match right before break, Tendou took a seat next to her, looking at her sketchbook. Out of nowhere, he gives her a giant bear hug, which she looks a bit miffed at. When Shirabu set to him, he happened to glance in her direction, and then - 

"Woah, Ushijima-senpai! What happened?" Shirabu asked, as the whole team stared at Ushijima with a look of shock on their faces. The ball slowly bounced on the ground right next to him. Even the girl looked at him in curiosity.

His eyes met hers, and that same electrical jolt from before ran down his spine, causing him to shiver. 

"Sorry, Shirabu. I got distracted," he answers, prying his gaze away from her. "It won't happen again."

“That’s 100 serves for you after practice today,” Coach Washijo says, with an irritated tone.

“Understood.”

Ushijima’s ever-stoic face shows no sign of his heart that’s aflame in embarrassment. How could he miss a spike because of eye contact? It sounded so silly to him. He decides to not look at the girl again.

"Wakatoshi-kun, do you like that girl?" Semi had asked afterwards. 

"No.” A pause. “Besides, I have no time for such things.”

Still, he couldn’t deny his strange feelings and actions any longer. Especially with the Interhigh coming up, he could not afford a moment’s distraction.

He had to get some answers.

As practice ends today, Ushijima casually jogs over to where the girl's sitting. She's collecting all of her stuff, getting ready to leave. Once he had tried to talk to her after he had changed out of his uniform, but she had already disappeared from the gym.

"Can I see your sketchbook?" he inquires. That same quickening of his heart happens again.

"Um... sorry, I can't." she mumbles, clearly embarrassed. "I don't like showing people my art, it's bad."

"You show Tendou each time you come here."

Her cheeks are a couple of shades away from a tomato (not that he minded). 

"Satori's... special," she says, slinging her backpack on her shoulder. “Sorry.”

 _First-name basis._ A small part of him is desperately hoping his theory isn’t true.

"I see. I won't ask again then." Ushijima walks away from her without another word and exits the gym. 

He, too, felt a bit embarrassed.

* * *

Autumn arrives, and the green leaves on the trees begin morphing into shades of warm hues. The wind now carries a slight chill in the air, and the Shiratorizawa students are slowly switching to their winter uniforms.

Ushijima hasn’t spoken to the girl since. Apparently she got all the necessary materials for her project, so she stopped showing up to practice. While he’s a tiny but disappointed he couldn’t talk to her more, he also needed no distractions with the next games coming up.

Tendou leaps into practice today like a gazelle, wearing the brightest expression Ushijima has ever seen on his face. "I found my soulmate!" he whoops, pumping his fist in the air.

Ushijima’s chest tightens a bit. 

"Is it the girl who was always drawing us?" Semi asks, his eyes wide. 

"What? No!" Tendou bursts out in indignation. 

His chest relaxes.

"Why would it be her? Her name's..."

Ushijima doesn’t catch the name. He’s just glad it wasn’t (Name).

"How did you figure it out?" Tsutomu asks, eyes wide with admiration at his senpai.

"We both decided to meet up at this cafe, but it was kinda hard describing it, and she told me what she was going to wear, then, boom, I found her!" Tendou explains. “I must be super lucky! She’s really into manga too!”

Ushijima had never tried meeting up with you, mainly due to conflicting schedules. Perhaps he’ll try again.

* * *

Soulmates are something you hadn’t cared much about until now.

When you were little, your arms and legs were bare, so you had assumed that your soulmate already passed on. You never bothered to draw on your arms, mainly because you were afraid of confirming that theory, and wore long sleeves and pants to hide your skin. Many of your classmates spent recesses and clubs dedicated to drawing or writing on theirs, excitedly waiting for a response. Some had found a whole different language, others found bad drawings, but there was a connection between them that was decided at birth. Their own special somebody that one day they’ll try to find. 

Which you never possessed. As you grew up, your skin still remained blank. Your parents looked at you with sad smiles and friends tried consoling you, but it really didn’t matter to you. 

Such things were just facts of life you simply had to accept. It was both a blessing and a curse gifted by the universe. 

It wasn’t until you started absentmindedly doodling on your arm in class during the first year of junior high that you realized your soulmate still existed.

It was a flower. And it stuck to your skin. 

Even after 5 minutes, it still was there.

After 10 minutes, no difference.

You exhaled a huge sigh of relief. 

Then you felt really, really stupid for being so afraid for all those years.

 _Why didn’t you write anything all this time? I thought you died!_ you wrote in a flash of anger and confusion.

A couple seconds later. _Sorry. I didn’t know what to say._

_A hello would’ve been fine!_

_I see. I’ll keep that in mind._

The nights you spent worrying over what you’d do later in life now disappeared from your memory. Even if whoever your soulmate is seemed a bit blunt, you were glad they existed.

Later, they wrote: _If you wish to use your arms as a place to draw, feel free to do so. Your flower is pretty._

From there, you started drawing all sorts of little things to make up for the experiences you had lost before. Your friends’ faces. Flowers you found interesting. Things from movies you watched. One time at 2 AM when the funniest thing to you was a ghost in a bottle of soy sauce.

One day, these words appeared: _I like seeing your drawings. I hope you don’t mind me not writing anything, as I do not wish to take up space for them._

For high school, you ended up applying to Shiratorizawa (mainly because you didn’t want to get beat by your twin and endure his smug looks for the rest of high school). Your academics had been fairly decent, but Shiratorizawa needed excellence. Endless nights were dedicated to studying for the entrance exam, You still drew on your skin, mostly out of stress. Your parents complained that you were going to ruin your arms at some point, so you switched to water-based pens.

You were elated when you got in, and Satori was genuinely happy too. That night, you excitedly wrote you got into your top school, and your soulmate congratulated you with a smiley face. 

You continued your little drawings on your arms whenever you could during class. When you ran out of space on your left arm, you switched over to your right. Even though it was ungodly hard at first, you wanted to show your soulmate even more sketches. Sometimes this turned into a schedule as you tended to be quite forgetful.

Then one day, Satori barged into your dorm with a triumphant look on his face.

“(Nickname), I~ found~ your~ soulmate~!” He had said in his sing-songy tone. 

You looked up from your desk, in the middle of your math homework. “Excuse me?”

At first you thought it was one of his classic pranks. Then he showed you his phone, which was filled with pictures and pictures of sketches on somebody’s arm. 

Your sketches, to be precise.

“What’s their name? What do they look like? How do you know them?” You attacked your twin brother with a flurry of questions, all of which he had refused to answer. 

“I won’t tell you anything until you’ve bought me two years’ worth of chocolate ice cream and Shounen Jump!”

“You sneaky little- Why would I even do that?”

“Because you love me and want to find out your soulmate?”

“Make it one.

“One and a half.”

“Deal.”

And once that was finished, your bank account taking quite the toll - 

“I’ll give you one hint: He’s in the volleyball team!” He had said, standing in your room with the final pint of chocolate ice cream in one hand and a Jump magazine in the other.

“Tendou Satori, you absolute jerk.”

“Tendou (Name), I never said I’d tell you everything~”

You vowed then and there to find your soulmate before Satori did to piss him off. 

Luckily, you had an art project to work on (who knew drawing on your arms so much led you to join the art club?), and could use that as your cover-up to visit the volleyball team’s practice. They apparently were getting swarmed with fangirls trying to sneak a peek at the team members, so they only opened the doors to those who had a legitimate reason. 

The first time you walk through the gymnasium doors, Satori gives you a big wave and leaps over to you, smiling brightly. You’re immediately put on guard. Your brother was never genuinely happy to see you, ever.

“What do you want?” You hissed.

“I haven’t told them you’re my twin, and I’d like you to keep it that way.”

“Exactly why?”

“Just a fun little game of mine. Also because I’m not going to let you find your soulmate that easily, duh.”

“Can’t I just tell them we’re related?” He starts pushing you to the stairs. 

“But where would the fun in that be? C’mon, just this once? I promise it’ll be fun. I’ll buy you your favorite candy for one and a half years.”

“Add in a new set of watercolors and you got a deal. I’m telling you which set too.”

You took a seat where you had a full frontal view of players and pulled out your pencil case, filled to the brim with all sorts of drawing and colored pencils. As their practice starts, you first take pictures of poses to use as reference. Once you deemed it enough, you started drawing live. It took some time to get used to since their movements were fast and sharp, but this was a good, rare opportunity to study the human figure.

Suddenly, a ball comes flying straight towards you, barely missing your face by a couple of centimeters, and bounces back onto the court.

You look up, startled, and for a brief moment, catch the eyes of the tallest man on the team.

His olive pools stared straight at you, as if he was peering into the very depths of your soul, searching for something. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi. Or, as Satori liked to say - “Miracle Boy”.

Your heart lurches forward. A singular bolt of electricity shoots down your spine and reaches to the very tips of your fingers and toes. 

_It had to be him._

But he looked entirely too intimidating - how were you supposed to approach that giant of a man anyways? He’s the supreme ace of Shiratorizawa, known for his harsh and biting words. You only paled in comparison to his achievements. 

_It couldn’t be him._

Wanting to hide the blush that was slowly starting to spread on your cheeks, you bury yourself in your sketchbook and flip through the pictures on your camera.

* * *

Everytime your eyes met his, you felt that same jolt, your heart lurched, and your breath quickened. Nobody else you met gave you such an intense physical reaction. 

And nobody else dominated the pages of your sketchbook this much.

One day, Satori takes a seat next to you during practice right before their break starts. 

“So, have you found out who it is yet?”

“Well, I’m kind of embarrassed to say this, but…”

“Oh? Did you really figure it out?”

“Is it… Ushijima-san?”

He gives you a big hug. “I’m not saying anything~”

“I really hate you, you know that?”

“I know and I love you! Well, are you going to try and confirm it? Do something about it?” He releases you.

“Absolutely not.”

“Eh? Why?”

“Well, for starters, I don’t want to get in the way of Interhigh practice, plus…” You sigh. “Tell me how I’m supposed to approach him? The greatest ace in the history of Shiratorizawa, probably? All on a theory?”

The easiest way would be to just check his arms, but you were afraid of getting close to him - your heart did weird dances and your stomach felt like it was going to flip inside-out whenever you even saw him.

“It’s not hard! I just barge into his dorm room, yell out ‘Wakatoshi-kun!’ and we talk!”

“Satori.”

“I guess if you’re really having trouble,” he tilts his head to the side. “I can try and get him to talk to you!”

“If you do that, I think one too many problems would occur on our planet. Please don’t. I’ll just figure something out.”

“Bleh, if you say so.”

* * *

Later, to your surprise, you didn’t even need to approach him or use Satori. 

“Can I see your sketchbook?” He asks, looming over you.

You gulp. “Um... sorry, I can't,” you mumble. "I don't like showing people my art, it's bad."

Which wasn’t exactly true, but you also didn’t want him to see that you had basically drawn him and only him. in your sketchbook. What if he didn’t feel the same thing you did? Wouldn’t you be seen as a creep?

"You show Tendou each time you come here." 

"Satori's... special. Sorry.”

You wanted to say “a big jerk”, but hold back for his sake. Especially since he still didn’t know the two of you were related. You get up and leave your spot, giving him a quick bow and exiting the building before your heart explodes out of your chest.

* * *

Your desk lamp casts a soft glow on the pages of your sketchbook as you flip through the pages. While initially it had started off with a healthy mix of every player on the team, it soon transformed into just Ushijima. 

You don’t mind, since he did have quite the proportions body-wise. Tall, muscular, with a chiseled face straight from a museum, he had the Golden Ratio of proportions.

Only problem is, you couldn't figure out if he was really your soulmate or just somebody you liked to look at, and after _that_ embarrassing experience, you were quite anxious about talking to him.

Then, as if by some miracle, your wish is granted, in the form of thick black lines.

“Volleyball game on the 6th this week.”

The handwriting is still as blocky as you remembered.

“What time?” you scribble back in a magenta pen.

“10 AM.”

“Where?”

“Gym.” 

_Oh right, no proper nouns._ You scratch your head a bit. If the person writing really was Ushijima-san, then you could just confirm with Satori later.

“Sorry it doesn’t help” is added on.

“It’s fine. Is it for high school?”

“Yes.”

Well, that did help.

“I’ll manage. I’ll be wearing all black. Good night, and see you then.”

No more lines form on your skin. You hope this plan works.

* * *

The 6th comes, and Ushijima is looking a bit more forward to playing against Aoba Johsai than normal, but as usual, it doesn't show.

On the bus ride there, he plays out the scene of him finally being able to see you (after defeating Aoba Johsai), though he’s not entirely sure what he would do, ultimately deciding to deal with that later. He still had to go through the whole “defeat Aoba Johsai” part, even if that would be easy.

He glances down at his right arm. The "conversation" the two of you shared last night is slightly faded, but neither person wanted to wash it off completely (earlier today, you had written “good luck!” with a volleyball drawn next to it which the corners of his mouth tugged upwards at). With how much space the writing last night took up, it could prove helpful locating you. 

The bus arrives at the Sendai City Gym. The team gets off the vehicle and enters the lobby, which is as crowded as ever. People are scattered about, all from different corners of Miyagi, coming to watch the finals. If Ushijima noticed the glances of onlookers at them, he didn’t show it, as his eyes were glued forward. It was natural for people to look up to greatness, after all.

Shiratorizawa confidently strides to the arena, with Ushijima leading. Inside the gym, the cool air is filled with a tense energy, but Ushijima is unaffected by it. They take their position on the court, Aoba Johsai right across them. He sees Oikawa glaring at him, even sticking his tongue out (how immature, he thinks. it wouldn't help him win anyways). Ushijima naturally pays him no attention.

(although Oikawa should’ve gone to Shiratorizawa).

All he has to do today is win, and then find you. 

But would he ever find you? He glances at the maroon banner hanging proudly behind him, the slogan of his school written in beautiful calligraphy, and scans the crowd for someone in black, seeing nobody that fit the description. 

However, the clock still read 9:30 - what was he getting nervous about? His gaze swivels to Aoba Johsai's banner and to his relief, he sees no one in black there. As today was the finals, only they were playing. He hopes you’re not at that blue and white school.

The game promptly starts at 10, and Ushijima never turns to the stands once. He didn't want to lose his focus against Aoba Johsai - Ushijima would never even think about giving them a set due to some external situation, though he does wonder if, in the cheers of “Shiratorizawa!” your voice is mixed in there. He sees Oikawa's face behind the net, a look of intense concentration mixed with agony. His thirst for victory is strong, but their team would never be strong enough.

As long as Ushijima's spikes can score, Shiratorizawa is given a win.

The game ended fairly quickly, with Shiratorizawa emerging victorious in a 2:0, to no one's surprise. Aoba Johsai’s team march over to their banner, holding back their tears, and bow to their supporters, which reminds Ushijima - 

He turned around to face the Shiratorizawa crowd, ecstatic in cheers. To his delight, he catches a person in all black. His eyes widen ever so slightly - could it really be you, his soulmate?

Not to his delight however, you’re running to the exit. 

Perhaps you planned on meeting him on the gym floor? He’s not entirely sure if that was allowed, and had planned on going up to see you, but he waits patiently while doing his stretches.

But you still never show up.

“Wakatoshi-kun, what’s the matter?” Tendou says, clapping the ace’s back. “You don’t look very happy. Though, I guess you never do. What I’m trying to say is, you look more down than normal.”

“I was supposed to meet my soulmate here today.”

Tendou gasps. “Wait, really? Wait, where are they?”

“She… left. But I know she was here.”

“Well, maybe another day then! Knowing that person, she probably forgot something on her schedule today.”

“Wait. Do you know my soulmate?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? We’re twins!”

Ushijima merely blinks in response.

* * *

_Shoot._ You’re running to the nearest bus stop, hoping there was a bus that could take you back to the academy. You were sure you wrote down your whole schedule for the day, but then your friend texted you during the volleyball game, asking "where the heck are you? we're meeting at that shop, remember?" 

You check the time on your phone. 12:24, meaning you were running almost 30 minutes late. Your friend was patient enough to let you at least finish watching the game after you told them you were about to find your soulmate.

Which you did. Well, it was more of a confirmation that you did. The brief glance the two of you shared was enough to confirm your beliefs.

Ushijima Wakatoshi, the ace of Shiratorizawa’s volleyball team, was somehow chosen to be your soulmate.

_Sounds something straight out of a shojo manga._

* * *

Ushijima has never felt this dejected. Or was it disappointment? Either way, his spirits are somewhat dampered right now, something new to him.

He won the game against Aoba Johsai, so Shiratorizawa is still known as the undefeated champions. But that was natural.

What isn’t natural is you running away. He was so sure that you'd be there, and then you two could see each other's faces, have a conversation - but you disappeared before any of that could happen. Maybe you didn't like volleyball? But then, why would you go to volleyball practice? 

That was you, drawing the team, on the second floor of the Shiratorizawa practice gym, wasn’t it?

He’s back on the bus, with a pen (borrowed from Tendou). 

On his arm, he writes, "Why did you run away?"

A few moments later, a pretty lilac color spells out, "I'm so sorry! I saw the whole game, but then my friend reminded me about plans, so I couldn't stay for long." 

"Don't worry about it. I am glad you saw the game, even if we couldn't meet face-to-face."

"That was a great win though! You were the winning team, right? You totally crushed the light blue one (you had initially written Seijoh, but that didn't show, so you used the team color)! Your spikes were so amazing!" 

A small, but genuine smile appeared on his face. 

"Yeah, we won. Thanks." A little later, he writes, "Are you doing anything later today?"

"2 PM, at a coffee shop with 4 flower pots in front with a cute sign."

Ushijima recalls the first time you two had tried meeting up. You wrote the exact same message - "2 PM, coffee shop with 4 flower pots in front and cute sign." His jogs took him past a shop with a similar description, but he didn't see anyone there when he entered. Later, you apologized, writing that you got roped into a family lunch since your grandparents came just the day before.

This time, he wants to make sure he can meet you.

* * *

Ushijima arrives 10 minutes after 2 in some casual clothes at the quaint, brick coffee shop with 4 flower pots in front. The sign, he supposes, is cute depending on how you looked at it. He apologized for his slight tardiness a little bit before, as he was held up by a certain redheaded middle blocker. You didn't mind, however, citing you had failed to meet him many times before.

(also since you knew it was Satori who was most likely telling him some weird advice).

Ushijima pushes open the doors, and a little bell chime signals his arrival.

The smell of freshly blended coffee enters his nose. Ushijima's eyes sweep around the whole coffee shop, from the rack of pastries to the barstools lined against the window, until his gaze rests on you. 

(Name). Indeed, the same girl who had sat on the second row in the gym.

The same bolt of electricity shoots down his spine as you turn around and meet his eyes. This time, a feeling of joy and relief swells inside him.

Mouth forming a grin, you reach for the pen on the table, and he uncaps the pen in his pocket.

“Found you.”

* * *

**EXTRA: (crack vers.)**

"Satori. Are you sure this is OK?" you asked your twin, who's currently leading you to the Shiratorizawa volleyball gym.

"Don't mind it! Even if our schools are bitter rivals, I will first and foremost always be your loving twin-"

"Like hell you are."

You are working on an art project for your club and needed live models in action, so you had decided to attend your school's volleyball practice, which was more than suitable enough, but for some reason Satori was hell-bent on letting you attend Shiratorizawa's practice to draw. He had already explained to the coach and did a bit of "Tendou Satori-style persuasion!" so you were free to enter the gym. On one condition: you don't wear your school's uniform, so that you didn't get peppered with questions as to why the enemy was on their grounds.

It turned out not to be a waste of time, though: you had strangely become drawn towards Shiratorizawa's ace (somebody a certain brown-haired setter referred to as "Ushiwaka-chan"), and his proportions followed the Golden Ratio exactly, something which you didn't know actually existed in people. Combine that with his chiseled face, muscular arms, equally muscular back muscles, toned thighs-

Ahem.

It was a nice daydream that the Shiratorizawa ace was your soulmate, especially since when he looked directly into your eyes, it sent a jolt of electricity down your entire body. You had never had that happened before, but you're not entirely sure if it was just due to his perfect body or the two of you actually being soulmates. 

\---

“Volleyball game on the 6th this week.”

“What time?”

“10 AM.”

“Where?”

“Gym. Sorry it doesn’t help."

“It’s fine. Is it for high school?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll manage. I’ll be wearing all black. Good night, and see you then.”

Your heart fluttering a bit, you take in a couple of deep breaths. Tomorrow would be the day you get to once-and-for-all confirm whether or not Ushijima Wakatoshi was your soulmate or not. The (bastard) Satori never confirmed when you asked him if your soulmate was Ushijima, instead letting out a mad giggle in response. 

Though, If a certain brown-haired setter found out, there may be some emergency visits to the hospital in store.

\---

You're cheering in the stands on the Seijoh side, as promised, wearing your all-black outfit. You were quite conflicted over who to cheer for - on one hand, Seijoh is your school, on the other, your (annoying and sadistic) twin brother and your potential soulmate is at Shiratorizawa.

The game is over in a flash - your school managed to take one set off the Miyagi powerhouse, but it proved to be naught as Shiratorizawa took the win. Once again, they were the reigning champions. 

You go down to the first floor, trying to find where your brother had ran off to, but his spiky red hair was nowhere to be found. You decide to freshen up at the bathroom for a bit (sitting in the stands for 2 hours did things to your bladder). After splashing some cold water on your face, you exit the bathroom.

Immediately to run into a wall.

More specifically, Ushijima Wakatoshi.

His tall figure looms over you and you gulp, his olive eyes sending that same jolt of electricity to you that you were all too familiar with. You had never been up close to this man before, and boy was he tall.

"May I see your right arm?" His deep voice asks, and you nod, holding up your arm to the giant. You hadn't bothered to wash off the conversation from last night, thinking it would add as extra insurance finding your soulmate.

He examines it a bit, his stone-faced features as usual revealing no sign of emotion. The Shiratorizawa ace then rolls up the jacket sleeve of his right arm and shows it to you.

_No way._

You see the exact same conversation on yours, printed on his arms.

 _"_ Uh..." you stammer. 

Of all the people in the world, it just had to be the rival school's ace that was chosen to be your soulmate.

A brief look of - was that disappointment? Flashes over his face.

"You go to Seijoh, correct?" He asks.

"Uh. Yeah," you reply.

This had to be a curse.

He's silent for a while, as if deciding what to say.

Finally, he opens his mouth-

"You should have come to Shiratorizawa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder how many of you out there recognize this one? If you do, comment down below! It's pretty much gotten a complete rework since it's release like... 4? 5? years ago, but the plot is essentially the same, just way. Way more fleshed out. (and wow, reading what it was before gave me entirely Too Much Cringe).
> 
> //an innate pull dictated me to bust out the you should have come to Shiratorizawa line sorry not sorry it was written at 1 am and I am leaving it how it is


	2. a mocha with cream, please. (tsukishima kei)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Venti, skim, sugar-free caramel macchiato that’s extra-hot with extra whip,” he says nonchalantly.
> 
> _Is that really Japanese?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> college setting, lighthearted. tsukishima as usual being a jerk. featuring an owl and cat boy as baristas, because why not.

This morning, you woke up late, not to your surprise.

Last night you finished your epic-not-epic cramming session for a chemistry test later today. You spent all night reviewing your notes and didn’t sleep until what felt like 3 in the morning, and when you rose from your textbook, there was a small trail of dried drool on the pages.

Wonderful, right?

You get ready for your day, sling on your backpack, and walk to the coffee shop near your dorm. Maybe that wasn’t the best idea considering you're running a bit late, but if there’s one thing you refuse to give up, it’s the coffee.

Cherry blossom petals float down from the trees, the branches rustling in the spring breeze. A couple of students are milling about the campus, chatting in hushed tones. The sun shines above in the sky, as if greeting you.

For a rough night last night, this wasn’t so bad. Your mood slightly lifted, you walk inside the coffee shop.

The tinkling sound of a small chime announces your arrival. Students are sitting at the tables, either studying, on their computer, reading books, or just drinking their coffee. The fresh aroma of dark roast acts as a slight wake-up call as you stand behind a tall blond, whom you’ve never seen before.

You’re on your phone, aimlessly scrolling through social media as the line inches forward. Pretty soon, it’s the blond’s turn to order.

“Venti, skim, sugar-free caramel macchiato that’s extra-hot with extra whip,” he says nonchalantly.

You look up.

_Is that really Japanese?_

The barista, a man with streaked black-and-white hair, doesn’t ask for a repeat. In fact, his round golden eyes don’t even blink as he writes it down on the cup. “Tsukki’s so boring today!” he drawls. “Next!”

_His name’s ‘Tsukki?’_

“Um, hi, I’d like a mocha with cream, please,” you say, feeling slightly out of place with your simplistic order.

“Nice and simple. Next!”

* * *

Thanks to the (pretentious) blond, you’re running a bit late to your first period, English. You rush in the class just before the bell rings, and a sigh of relief escapes your lips. The teacher glares at you harshly, but thankfully doesn’t call you out.

“Class, the homework’s on the board, copy that down in your books. It’s due this Thursday by midnight, and I’m expecting 5 pages. And not one minute late, Konishi-san.”

To your annoyance, a tall blond person is sitting in front of you. You try and move to see the board, but to no avail.

“Hey, can you move a bit?” you whisper, a bit annoyed. “I can’t see the board.” The person turns, and it’s the blond from the coffee shop.

Of course it’s him.

You suddenly feel like your day has gone from 100 to 0 in the span of less than an hour.

He smirks, and takes your cup of coffee, reading the label. “A mocha with cream? Lame.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s better than your unnecessarily long drink,” you hiss.

You continue to move your body, leaning left, right, and up, but he seemed to read all of your moves, effectively blocking your line of sight. Is he a goalie or something?

Giving up, you abruptly stand up. However, the guy did the same, knocking over your coffee in the process. “Oh, whoopsie me. I suppose you’ll have to clean that up now, hm?” He smirks, ticking you off even more.

“What’s going on back there – hey, clean that up right now!” The teacher yells, stopping his lecture. Some students turn to look at the two of you. You clench your teeth.

Definitely a zero now. 

* * *

Weeks pass, and you find yourself behind the (goddamn) blond every single time. You’ve tried waking up earlier or arriving later, but it seems that the wretched wall of a person is always in front of you, named ‘Tsukki’.

How ironic that he had a cute nickname but a seriously annoying face.

When he finishes ordering, you’re pretty sure he turns his head slightly towards you and smirk, like he knows he’s pissed you off, but couldn’t care less. What could've been a 5 minute wait at the coffee shop turns into a 20 minute one due to his egregiously long order, making you needing to sprint across campus sometimes to your next class. 

After the spill, you’ve never talked to him since – you never felt that it was necessary to start a conversation with someone who knocked your coffee over and didn’t apologize. Even if you didn’t manage to get in front of him in line, the only class you had with him was English, and to avoid any more mishaps, you sit down furthest away from him.

But then, just somehow, you always find yourself sitting right behind him.

“Dude. What the fuck,” you whisper one day. “Why are you always in front of me?”

The man glances up to you. “Oh, my apologies. This seat was open you see, and I couldn’t really see the board well from my previous seat.”

“Why don’t you take a seat there in the first place, then?”

“It wasn’t opened before. I guess you’ll just have to deal with me now, hm?”

Nobody in your life has irritated more than this man, you decide.

* * *

It’s 8:20 AM on a dreary Monday when you wake up. Last night was maybe not the best of decisions; you had spent the night partying at the bar with your friends at the bar, celebrating a birthday, downing a good couple glasses of alcohol. You might’ve forgotten the details of what happened, but there was probably no drastic damage done, as you’re still in your room and alone.

A thudding pain almost splits your head as you get up from your bed, hand reaching for the bottle of Advil you kept on the dresser. You take one and get ready for the day, your whole body aching and fumbling around. When you head out, you almost forget your keys.

As soon as you step outside the doors of your dorm, droplets of rain fall onto your head.

_Oh great._

Small puddles have formed on the sidewalks and the students walking around are all holding umbrellas. You’re in no mood to rush back up to your dorm and grab yours, so you make a mad dash to the coffee shop, backpack over your head, before you get completely soaked.

Inside, the atmosphere is still the same as usual, and the familiar scent of dark roast warms you up.

To your surprise and joy, the blond’s not in front of you. A silver lining to the start of a horrible day, it seems.

 _Maybe he already got his order?_ The line shuffles forward, and soon you’re at the counter.

The tinkling of the shop’s bell rings out again and the tall blond enters. He’s right behind you today.

A satisfied feeling spreads throughout you as you pretend to not notice him. It seems you’ve finally been blessed with some good tidings.

“Oya oya oya, if it isn’t (Nickname)-chan! So, what does your heart desire for on this rainy Monday?” A raven-haired guy with a permanent bedhead speaks, holding up a cup and pen, a smirk on his face.

For some reason, it reminds you a bit too much of the blond’s smirk.

“Yo, Kuroo,” you say, ignoring his little dramatic flair. “I'll take a mo- actually, scratch that.”

This was your chance to piss the blondie off. And get your revenge.

Since you’ve stood behind that guy for so long, you can say his order in your dreams.

“I’d like a venti, skim, sugar-free caramel macchiato that’s extra-hot with extra whip,” you say proudly.

Thank the coffee god you didn’t mess that up.

Kuroo glances at you oddly, and shrugs. “If you say so. Trust me, it tastes horrible. Next!”

The guy ‘Tsukki,’ goes up to the counter. “A mocha with cream, please.” He glances at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, so you two have switched orders, hmm?” Kuroo wiggles his eyebrows at both of you which you return with an exasperated sigh. “Whatever you’re thinking, just stop," you grumble.

After a while, both of you have your drinks in hand. You take a sip from yours, and then immediately spit it out.

“What the hell is this?” you sputter, wiping your mouth with a napkin. ‘Tsukki’ has a similar reaction, and he hands you his drink. “Switch with me," he demands.

You gladly hand over the cup. “For a snobby bastard like you, you have absolutely no understanding of flavor, Tsukki. How did you even think this was a good idea when you started ordering this drink?”

“Oh really? It turns out I overestimated the flavor of whatever yours is. Rats would get food poisoning if they drank that, (Nickname). You’ll be late to your next class if you don’t hurry, by the way. If I remember correctly, last time you made the professor pissed.”

“Same goes for you, idiot.” The two of you sprint towards English, praying you won't get lectured by the professor and not choke on your drinks.

“Have a nice day, you two!” Kuroo calls out.


	3. the willow tree. (yamaguchi tadashi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamaguchi can see yokai.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the one that has the supernatural twist.

Yamaguchi can see yokai.

It was something he was inherently born with: the ability to see and interact with yokai like they were humans. 

He hasn’t met anyone else like him. 

When he was little, he’d often tell others of fantastical monsters and slightly-odd looking humans, but people thought of him either as a child with an imaginative mind, or a complete liar. It wasn’t hard to single him out as the strange kid who only spoke of beasts and ogres, fairies and nymphs, hiding behind the shadows or flying in broad daylight.

Yamaguchi didn’t have any friends because of this. He’d sit alone at lunch and speak to nobody, since everyone labelled him as the weird kid. Sometimes, other kids would taunt him, saying “Look! A yokai!” and laugh at him when he jumps.

Yokai aren’t beings to mess around with - he’s had to run away from a great many and fight them off, since most desired the taste of human flesh. Some were on the nice side and engaged in pleasant conversation with him whenever he was alone, but those ones could be manipulative. Regardless, everybody always saw him as the boy running away from nothing or the boy talking to nobody. His parents didn’t know what to do with him and just left him to his own devices.

Soon, he started harboring a resentment towards the supernatural. The ability to see them felt like a curse; why was he the only one chosen?

He learns to not speak of the yokai as he grows older and starts ignoring whatever nonhuman being approaches him. He’s able to make friends this way, despite his initial shyness. And finally, once he’s in high school, he doesn’t even notice the yokai anymore. His parents were relieved when he came home and didn’t start talking about weird, supernatural entities, but finally, a regular, normal day. 

Life was better this way.

“Thank you very much!” he says to the general store owner, who waves goodbye at him. Today Yamaguchi’s made even more progress in perfecting his jump floater, managing to hit a series of successful ones.

He starts his trek home, walking back up the hill, a bit lost in thought as he goes over the jump floater in his head. But then, unbeknownst to him, his feet take him on another path, off to the side. 

When he looks up, he realizes that he’s in a secluded clearing with a small pond, surrounded by a dense forest of towering oak trees. 

_Was this place always here? Well, I’ve got a bit of time. I guess I’ll just stay here for a bit, it looks safe enough._

He sits down on the slightly overgrown grass, gazing at his surroundings. The last rays of the setting sun peer through the foliage. A slight breeze creates delicate ripples on the surface of the water and dances with the leaves. The arrival of the small, flickering glows of fireflies gives the scene a magical touch, as if he’s transported into a world not on Earth.

“Why are you here? It’s very late at night, aren’t your parents worried?” an unfamiliar voice calls out. 

“Don’t worry about me – but, who are you?” He asks, searching for the voice, and then finally seeing you leaning against a willow tree. Your face is covered by a mask, and you’re wearing a simple, tan kimono.

“Just someone passing by,” you reply, not leaving the tree. “How did you get here? I haven’t seen anybody come through for a while now.”

“Er, I got a bit lost on my way home,” he chuckles. “Oh, am I bothering you at all?”

“No, you’re fine where you are.”

He sits in silence for a bit, unsure of what to say. A couple of minutes pass, and he gets up from his spot, saying goodbye.

“Will you be back soon?” you ask.

“I’ll try my best.”

* * *

He did, indeed, come back soon.

In fact, Yamaguchi quickly turns visiting you into a daily habit. Each day, he’d walk back home from school, then go towards the lake. The first-year would slowly open up to you each day - it was clear you weren’t a threatening presence, and he started enjoying talking to you. On the weekends, he made some time to visit you too.

“Do you have a name? Mine’s Yamaguchi, Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

“Ah… To be truthful, I’ve actually forgotten my name.” You reply, hand on your chin. “I must’ve lost it somewhere.”

Yamaguchi’s not sure how somebody loses their name, but he doesn’t pry.

“How about I call you Willow-san then? Since you’re always standing by the willow tree,” he suggests.

“That sounds great, thank you!”

Yamaguchi can’t tell if it’s genuine due to the mask covering their face, but you did sound pretty enthusiastic.

“Then Willow-san, nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you, Yamaguchi."

* * *

Some days the two of you discuss volleyball, since Yamaguchi often brought a ball with him. You had never seen the ball before, curiously inquiring what it was, and Yamaguchi tried his best to explain how the game works. Thanks to his tutelage, you knew what the positions on the court were, and what their roles are, even if you scrambled up some of the words.

“And what are you?” you ask.

“I'm the pinch server.”

“What’s that?”

"I get crucial points with my serve, like this-"

He shows you the jump floater he’s been working on as of late, and you’re ecstatic. You jump up and down while cheering, which Yamaguchi is somewhat embarrassed about, but he’s glad you like it.

“I’m not that great, you know. Everybody on the team is a better player in every way, and I feel like I’m just an average person in the presence of superhumans when I’m on the court with them.”

“But even then, you’re still an important player on the team, aren’t you?”

“I guess so.”

Yamaguchi never asked about your life. In fact, he hasn’t even seen the face underneath the mask, but he’s not the type to be inquisitive. He waits for you to muse about your travels to places all across Japan, and Yamaguchi always intently listens to every story. He finds them fascinating, the different worlds you’ve visited, from the depths of the sea in Okinawa to the mountain ranges in Aomori.

He talks about important events that happened in his life too: the prefecture tournament his team had won, how they were the underdog team and beat the biggest contenders of Miyagi, and now they’re going to Nationals. You fervently wish him luck in his upcoming games, telling him to stay healthy. He graciously thanks you.

“Why don’t you come and see a volleyball game?”

“Eh? Oh no, I don’t think I can do that, my apologies. I’m very, very bad with directions, you see.”

“Ah, that’s just like somebody else on our team…”

Whenever Yamaguchi invites you out to somewhere, you always reject the offer, providing some excuse. Yamaguchi doesn’t mind. Sitting next to him on the grass was more than enough, though he always felt a sad twinge in his heart, and soon he stopped inviting you out altogether. 

The two of you remain close all throughout his high school years. He feels like he can tell you anything, even if he doesn’t even know the basic details about you. Yamaguchi never felt it necessary to know where you went to school or what your favorite color was, knowing about how you managed to accidentally start a frog army or the time you befriended a god (two things which sounded quite absurd to him, but he enjoyed your storytelling).

When the first snow came, he taught you how to make a snowman. The two of you spend the snowy days on the ground, making snow angels and having snowball fights. As the snow melted and spring arrived again, you showed him the lone cherry blossom tree deep in the heart of the woods, something he never knew existed. You sometimes invited him to climb the willow tree and sit next you, gazing at the pond, with pink petals pasted on its surface. When the last of the cherry blossoms died and the overbearing heat of summer entered, he brought his father’s fishing rod, and tried to catch a fish in the pond. You grew more and more impatient as nothing was biting, eventually deciding to dive into the clear waters, successfully dragging him with you. He had to come up with a hasty excuse to his parents when they questioned why he was sopping wet when he returned home. The next day, he brought a spare change of clothes and a towel, as well as a popsicle from Shimada’s store, since you had never tried ice cream before.

Such is the nature of the relationship he shares with you, and he treasures it greatly.

But he starts visiting less and less every year. Daily visits turned into every other day, then weekly, then monthly, until one time, it had been six months since his last visit. 

After volleyball practice, he walks home, thinking about the upcoming matches for the Interhigh. His feet take him on the off-road path again, now lightly dusted with snow.

He enters the secluded forest, the branches covered in snow. All around him is a winter wonderland: sheets of white covered the once leafy trees, the grass is replaced by a blanket of snow. The small pond, which once teemed with life, is now covered by ice, smooth as glass.

Even if there isn’t a single living soul here, it still holds the same magical quality it held all those years before.

And you’re still at your usual spot by the tree. You looked like you had been there for all of eternity, an unmoving statue, even wearing the same tan, unpatterned kimono as before. A pang of guilt hits him hard.

“Willow-san… I’m sorry I haven’t been visiting you at all!” He immediately bows in apology. You turn your head to him and chuckle.

“Oh, Yamaguchi! It’s been a while, how have you been?”

“I’ve been good. Um… I got into the college I was telling you about before, and I’m actually the volleyball team captain now…” He trails off, and you clap your hands together in delight.

“Congratulations! I knew you could do it! You’ve come so far since the first time you came here, I’m so proud!” You cheer, and he laughs. Yamaguchi’s reminded of the old times of how he used to tell you every little achievement of his and how joyful you were to hear them.

“But… you see, I’m going to be leaving soon, since the college is far away from here, in Tokyo, so um… I might not be able to… visit…” he stutters, feeling like the most horrible person on Earth for saying this. 

“Oh.” You don’t respond for a while. “It’s fine. I was… surprised you could stay this long, anyways.” As always, your mask doesn’t reveal your facial expressions, so he can’t tell exactly what you’re feeling.

“I’m really really really sorry!” he bows again, shouting out his apology. 

“Don’t be like that… I understand, you’re going to be studying your major, and then getting a job. Honestly, sometimes you need to stop saying sorry,” you reply in your usual, soothing voice. “I truly am happy for you.”

Yamaguchi looks up from his bow, and slowly returns to an upright posture. “Thank you very much, Willow-san. I’ll always treasure the times we talked together! Oh, but today I can’t stay long, I have to go now,” he looks at his phone mournfully. 

“See you later then. Be sure to stop by if you ever can!”

Strangely, you never did say goodbye.

* * *

College offers many exciting things to Yamaguchi, and he has much more freedom compared to high school. He plays volleyball just as a hobby now, focusing more on his studies. Once he graduates, he hopes to work at a home electric company back in Miyagi.

There’s a willow tree on the quad, and he’s always reminded of you when he walks past it. 

* * *

Yamaguchi goes back home that summer to visit his parents. He’s excited to see the town again, to visit Karasuno, the streets he and the team used to walk down, and Shimada-san as well as the rest of the Neighborhood Volleyball Association, who still plays volleyball from time to time. 

And he doesn’t forget about you.

He starts walking back home, the street he’s walked on so often, but for some reason, he can’t find the off-road path, no matter how many times he retraces his steps. A growing fear grips his heart. He promised to you he’d come back and visit again. Are you even still at the tree? What if you had finally decided to move on?

As nighttime falls, he dejectedly gives up his search and returns home.

The following days he tries finding the path again, at different times of the day. But each time, the dirt path wouldn’t show up, and every day, he’s even more pessimistic about finding it, until he eventually gives up completely. 

_Willow-san, where are you?_

* * *

You’re humming to yourself, sitting on a tree branch, observing the family of birds nearby. You’ve waited so long for Yamaguchi to return, yet every day there was no sign of him. Because of the aging willow tree, you aren’t able to have as far of a radius to travel to like you used to, and now you can only barely manage to fly around the small town.

Today, you see a lanky man with dark green hair, cut slightly shorter, with freckles like stars that splash across his cheeks walk by.

You’d recognize him anywhere.

Overjoyed, you float down to meet Yamaguchi, but he doesn’t notice you. He keeps on walking the main road, trying to retrace his steps. Each time he walks back and forth, he just misses the dirt path.

“Hey! Yamaguchi! You’re back!” You call out, but he doesn’t respond. 

“Yamaguchi! Over here!” You continuously yell, but to no avail. 

Can he not hear you? You try touching him, waving your arms right in front of his face, and even doing a weird dance until you’re exhausted and flop down on the grass.

He still doesn’t notice.

“Miss, I don’t think that boy can see you,” a tiny bunny squeaks. It’s a traveling bunny, wearing a small sun hat, carrying a bindle.

“I know,” you reply, sighing. Your fingers brush the grass, and you lie on your back, looking at the clouds that pass by.

_Yamaguchi, can you really not see me anymore?_

Beneath your mask, a small tear forms in the corner of your eye, rolling down your cheek.

* * *

Yamaguchi is turning twenty-eight this year. He finally proposed to his girlfriend, Yachi Hitoka, his crush since high school, mainly propelled by Tsukishima, who was right next to him when it happened. He later tells the news to everybody on the volleyball team.

Of course, Daichi decides to invite them all out to a restaurant to celebrate, eating and drinking without restraints, toasting to Yamaguchi every five seconds. It took a whole month and a lot of stress to gather everybody and make sure that their schedules were all free on one day, but thankfully it worked out. People like Kageyama and Hinata arrived a bit later due to their hectic schedules on the national team, but finally, after almost ten years, the whole team’s been reunited. 

They collectively decide that Yamaguchi should go back home the next day to tell his parents, which he has no ability to refuse. Since he’s Miyagi anyways, it isn’t that far of a bus ride away. 

Once the clock hits 12, most of them are flat-out drunk, asides from Asahi, Ennoshita and the pro athletes. They all say their last congratulations and head on home.

The next morning, Yamaguchi and Yachi take the bus back to their old town. A strong feeling of nostalgia rushes in him as he steps off the bus. Everything still looked the same, from the convenience store that Ukai ran, to the never-ending hills, to his high school. He’s glad that he could still remember his way around, albeit with some help from Maps and a bit of asking around the locals.

He first visits his parents, who are delighted that his son is finally going to settle down soon. Yamaguchi also visits Shimada-san like he did during summer break in college, and catches up with everything that’s been happening (which wasn’t a lot, he realizes. He did get the job at the home electric company, so that was something). 

He starts his trek back home from the general market, completely absorbed in thought. He doesn’t realize that his feet wander off and take him onto a dirt path.

And soon, he’s back at the forest with the small pond. The last rays are peeking through the dense foliage. The breeze sends ripples across the surface of the water, and the fireflies start glowing, like tiny little lanterns.

Just the same as before.

He sees a familiar figure now standing right next to a shriveled tree, the only difference. You’re still wearing the same robes and the same mask.

Suddenly, the memories of the times he’s spent here are returning to him.

Yamaguchi stutters some incoherent words, until he manages to form a “Willow-san, you’re still here?”

“Hello, Yamaguchi. Long time no see, and it’s really been a long time now,” you reply, smiling at him. You start floating towards the man, who’s stumbling backwards and eventually falls on his behind on the grass, seeing you a good meter up in the air.

“How… are you doing that?” he stammers, eyes wide open at the sight in front of him.

And then it hits him. 

Of course.

He had long since forgotten about it after all these years, but the ability never completely left him.

“Yokai, right? I had a feeling… but I didn’t want to say anything,” he sighs, his shoulders relaxing.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you when we met,” you apologize, a bit bashfully. “But I was so surprised you could see this place, and me. When’d you figure it out?” You land on the grass in front of him, and take a seat.

“Well, you always wore the same clothes, even during winter. I thought you would’ve been cold, but you never seemed like it.”

“Oh, that would give it away. We don’t normally change out of our clothes, since, well, there’s hardly a need to do so.”

A brief pause, as Yamaguchi’s still trying to collect his thoughts.

“Why did you talk to me, the first time we met?”

You tilt your head, taking a bit to answer. “All of our kind know of you as the Seeing Boy. But you carried a deep resentment towards us, so we eventually left you alone. A small part of me still wanted to meet you and talk to you, since you looked so… lonely.” You pause. “It was certainly a selfish desire of mine, thinking back. When you entered… high school, was it? You had that one boy next to you. I wanted to know what had happened, and opened up this forest to you.”

“So that’s why I was able to come here?”

“Indeed. I was originally planning to just see you once, but you seemed interesting, so I let this place open. Though, I guess your ability started fading away as the years went by.”

“Were you here all this time, then?”

“I originate from that willow tree, so yes, this place here is my home.”

He thinks about this for a bit. “Oh! that summer back when I was still in college, you were still here too?”

“Still here. I actually tried to reach out to you, but by then, I think you completely lost the ability to see us.”

“But why can I see you now?”

He suddenly notices a slight, warm glow surrounding your figure.

“I’m actually using up a lot of energy to be in this form. The tree over there is connected to my life force, and without it, I cannot sustain this for long.” You stand up from your spot on the grass and start floating upwards.

“Wait! Where are you going?” He calls out, rushing forward. 

“I’ll return back to the tree, to make it grow again. Once it’s finished, however, I may not be able to return to this body again.” You slowly float back towards the sky, the night sky now somewhat visible behind your body.

“Can I at least see your face?”

Your hand removes the mask that’s covered your face for so long, and you beam at him. The warm light surrounding you glows stronger as more parts of your body start becoming transparent.

 _Don’t go_ , he seems to be calling out, but you can’t hear him anymore.

“One final thing. Thank you for giving me a name, but I’ve finally remembered mine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“My name is (Name). Nice to meet you, and goodbye now, Yamaguchi.”

In a golden flash of light, the entirety of your figure disappears. The fireflies that were weaving through the grass suddenly fly up in a spiral, their flickering lights just like a starry sky, and they dance around the light - your light, as it flies back into the shriveled willow tree. The gnarled tree emits an inviting glow, before it returns to its original state. 

The whole forest seems just a little more empty now.

Yamaguchi looks up at the sky where you last were. He sinks to the ground, sitting there, for a couple minutes.

A small smile forms at the corners of his mouth, and a bittersweet wave washes over him. 

For some reason, Yamaguchi’s not sad. Rather, he’s glad he was able to see you one last time.

He stands up, walking the dirt path one last time. 

Once he’s on the main road, the dirt path in between the trees vanishes. If he went back in, he knows he wouldn’t be able to see you again.

A breeze rustles by.

 _Thank you, Yamaguchi,_ the leaves seemed to whisper.

For the rest of his life, he can’t see yokai anymore.


	4. bury myself in the flames. (kuroo tetsurou)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wanna have that experience, with all those fans looking straight at you, listening to what you have to say. You’re in the center of the universe, and all the stars are staring right at you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in a dystopic Japan where strict rules are enforced to keep a peaceful society. breaking these rules may result in prison time, fines, or execution. (If you’ve watched Psycho-Pass, think that).
> 
> people who choose to pursue music must be authorized by the government and can only make certain types of music – due to this, many have turned to the underground scene, where they can freely express themselves. however, since this is a violation of the rules, people must perform secretly.
> 
> kuroo and his band is authorized, meanwhile you’re a very famous underground singer.
> 
> tw: the one with the major character death tag, angst, yeah. featuring a nonlinear narrative so stay focused (also Kuroo's a bit OOC my apologies).
> 
> song referenced: "[lemon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PowTFw-jAA)" by kenshi yonezu

\--

_“How good it would have been if this were all just a dream_

_Even now, I still dream of you”_

\--

"Rou-san, many of your fans have noticed a necklace with a fire pendant around your neck that you always wear during your concerts, can you explain to us its significance?"

"Oh, this piece of junk? Just something an old friend of mine left behind, nothing special."

* * *

All things considered, Kuroo Tetsurou leads a pretty satisfying life.

The life as an authorized band has it perks. No longer does he have to live in fear of getting caught (executed) by the government and he can live in the safety of a nice, well-serviced dorm. Once the formerly-Underground trio of Akaashi, Tsukishima, and himself were authorized, their current company immediately sought out for them. The artist-company profit percentage was decent enough so they signed on. Their new rapper immediately meshed in with the group and didn’t mind their background history.

So Kuroo really doesn’t have much to complain about.

But there was still something deep inside him that yearned for something more; a something he can't quite put the word on it.

For the most part however, he keeps this close to his heart.

“Bo, come look at this!” Kuroo chuckles, on his phone. “It’s so funny...”

The gray-haired rapper looked at Kuroo’s phone. As usual, it's a dog doing random tricks.

“Kuroo-san, I think that’s the same one you saw yesterday,” Akaashi remarks, also taking a peek at the video.

“It’s still funny,” he retorted, and scrolls down on his phone. “Hey, maybe we should get-”

“Absolutely not,” Tsukishima drawls. “In the first place, you’d most likely forget about the dog and then it’s up to the rest of us to take care of it.”

“Hey, you don’t have to be that rude! Who says I wouldn’t take good care of it? I’ll feed it the best food in the market and make sure it gets its daily walks. After all, I’ve always been a nice—”

"Please do not continue that sentence.”

Kuroo and the band are walking back to their dorm after a long day of practice. The new song choreographed for them called for some intense footwork, something Kuroo’s not really used to. Still, the four of them manage, since it’s their jobs, and they’ve become used to the rigor and intensity that their company demanded of them.

He sometimes wonders if this really was what he should’ve done, but at the same time, his life is a comfortable one now. There was nothing to fear, so as long as they followed what the company told them to do.

After some more scrolling, Kuroo finds a video of a cute golden retriever doing a trick. “You guys, look at this!” he says, giggling. 

Nobody responds.

_Why aren’t they saying anything?_

Kuroo looks up from his phone, and to his surprise, nobody’s with him. Somehow, he’s now alone in a dark alley, and for some reason, his phone doesn't have a signal. His footsteps slow down as he examines his surroundings.

A street lamp emitting a fluorescent red hue (were they always red?) flickers on and off. Next to the lamp is a stack of cardboard boxes, covered in a fine layer of dust. He’s half-expecting a scary object to jump out at him, like at the start of bad horror movies that Bokuto liked to watch.

The smooth pavement beneath him transforms into jagged and rough pebbles that poke at the soles of his feet. However, a sense of intrigue and (perhaps dangerous) curiosity has now overtaken him, and he keeps walking forward. A cold breeze blows by him, and he shivers a bit in his light jacket. 

“Bo? Akaashi? Tsukki?” He calls out, a bit worried. Maybe this was a prank the band had set up? One of Kuroo’s defining personality traits is being a jokester, which he faithfully embodied on and even off screen. _Are they getting revenge on me right now?_

There's still no signal on his phone. Kuroo continues to walk forward, calling out his friends’ names over and over again, until—

“What’s a pretty boy like you doing down here? One more step in, and you’re entering the Underground,” a voice speaks up. From the shadows, a woman steps out, her arms crossed across her chest, leaning against the stone wall next to her. Her eyes, reflecting the crimson-colored light above, glint with a hint of menace.

He does a quick double take before regaining his composure.

She screamed danger, screamed wild, screamed—

_Do you not recognize me anymore?_

“And what’s a beautiful girl like you doing in a dark place like this? Mind you, I don’t have any money on me, if that’s what you want. Or maybe… you wanted something else?” He leans in closer, smirking.

If she didn’t, he’ll just play along for a bit.

“Whoa, don’t do that.” She pushes him away, and her dangerous aura immediately dissipates. “If somebody’s down here, they’re either really dumb or lost. Which one’s you?”

“How ‘bout both? I’m guessing you can show me the way out of here?"

“Whatever. Just follow me.” The woman walks back into the shadows, and Kuroo has no choice but to tag along.

\--

_“The last thing you taught me_

_Is that there are types of happiness that don't come back”_

_\--_

Some time later after everything had settled, Kuroo's not sure when, he’s in the main plaza of the city, sitting on a bench, watching the enormous screen plastered right up against a building currently playing an advertisement. _"Eat interesting,"_ it says. He's not sure what it meant.

Then again, he's not sure what anything means anymore.

Crowds of people are on the streets, busying themselves with their lives, and he was the only one unmoving. What else was he supposed to do, anyways?

All of a sudden, an anchorman pops up, interrupting the ad.

“Breaking news—we have just received information that the underground performer, (Stage Name), has been executed.”

And people are still continuing their lives as if nothing happened.

\--

_“The dark past I kept hidden and unsaid_

_Would have remained forever dark, if I hadn't met you”_

\--

“Do you know where you are?” the woman asks. 

“Is this the rumored Underground that everybody’s so afraid of?” Kuroo replies, looking around. They’ve entered a small city-like area, lit up by colorful streetlights. Shops and homes line the streets, worn down with age, but hold a certain rustic charm. People are strolling on the sidewalks, some smoking, others drinking, wearing outlandish prints and crazy fashions Kuroo hasn’t seen in a very long time.

_I’ve missed this._

“You don’t seem scared,” she smirks. “Most brats who come here wet their pants or something. Then it’s hard to deal with them.”

“There’s nothing scary here, it’s just different,” he replies. 

“If you say so.” She doesn’t say anything else, and they walk forward on the sidewalk, Kuroo's long legs barely managing to keep up with her quickened footsteps.

The woman gets a lot of attention from just about everybody. Most who saw her had expressions of admiration or shock on their faces. Some wave to her, giving her encouraging smiles, others give her a cheer, which she all returned back with a warm smile.

“Aren’t you the popular one?” he remarks, after a person came up and gifted her a small plushie.

“What do you expect? I’m the most famous singer down here. King status." A bitter, dry chuckle escapes from her lips, something he's not used to. “Though, I guess I’m more like I’m a false king—people revere me, but I don’t have the power to do anything.”

“Exactly what do you mean by that?”

“I’m sure you’re well aware, seeing as you’re a part of them. Your guys want my head.”

And this he couldn't deny—recently, the hunt for her had been popping up more in the news again.

A long, white slab of marble enters his view. It stretches to both sides until it hits the dilapidated wooden buildings next to it, and stretches up a good couple heads above Kuroo, as if it was trying to hide what’s behind it. On top of the slab is a small, thatched roof. In the very center of the marble is a circular double door, made of iron. 

“And what’s this thing doing down here?” Kuroo nods at the gate.

Her eyes lingered on it longer than expected. “Cemetery entrance. We try to make everybody’s final resting place a bit better than what they’ve endured.”

Kuroo sees a brief flash of pain across her face.

They’ve walked for quite a while now. Kuroo’s feet are screaming in pain, but he doesn’t dare take a break. His bass guitar is now a lead weight in his hand, and it takes him all of his effort not to drop it.

“So, you say you’re a singer? What do you sing about?” he decides to ask, though he’s already well aware of the answer.

“Oh you know—taboo.” A curt response.

“What, you’re not going into detail about it?"

_Well, it’s probably not that much different than before._

“Anything that the government doesn’t want you model citizens hear, we make people hear it down here. Call it our little rebellion."

“So wouldn’t you want that rebellious message to be heard all over this planet?” 

Seconds later, he realizes that he probably shouldn’t have asked this.

She stops in her tracks and turns to look at him, an eyebrow arched upwards. “You must be crazy.”

He holds up his hands. “We bassists lay out the foundation. You singers are the ones that are wild, screaming at the world. I mean, isn’t that what suits you best?”

She stares at him for a good long second.

Kuroo stares back.

Then she lets out the biggest laugh Kuroo’s ever heard before.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you actually said that—I can’t keep this up anymore—Tetsu, you are really something else, did you know that?” she finally says, wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Hold on—you _knew_ ? And you didn’t say a single _thing_? What the fuck were you thinking?” he asks indignantly with an exasperated look.

“Hey, don’t tell me you didn’t know either! It was just too funny to pretend I didn’t, y’know?” she giggles, and this time he recognizes just a bit of the sound.

“Wow, you’re a real piece of work," but there's a small smile on his face.

“So are you. Now that’s out of the way, tell me about how everybody’s doing.”

The two start walking again, and the woman's steps are now much slower than before.

“Akaashi and Tsukki are still the same as ever, being them. Did you know Akaashi is surprisingly a good dancer? Tsukki still kinda sucks though.”

“They’re making you dance now? Damn, that sounds rough.”

“Well, can’t do much about it. Oh, we got a new rapper by the way, he’s kind of a mess to handle…”

_\--_

_“I know there's no possible way_

_I could ever be hurt any more than this”_

\--

“Kuroo, you win the award for being the most stupid person on this planet,” Tsukki comments. The three of them exit the police station where Kuroo spent a whole night under heavy interrogation. Only when Akaashi and Tsukki showed up, weaved a story about how Kuroo was being manipulated by the famed Underground singer and was forced to perform with her, do they release him.

(Kuroo honestly thought it sounded dumb, but the cops somehow bought it. Government must’ve been trying really hard to catch her.)

“Still, couldn’t you have cut her some slack?” he retorts. The air’s stale and calm, unlike the atmosphere of the concert. Some people walk by, recognizing the members, and the trio waves at them, somewhat half-heartedly. 

Tsukishima doesn’t reply for a while.

“She’ll understand.”

A single white bird flies upward in the blue sky.

* * *

After a long catch-up session and taking a detour to visit some old places, the duo exits the bright lights of the Underground and reach a dark alley, just like the one where he met the woman. Up ahead, he sees the busy street of Tokyo running by.

“Here, if your birdbrain gets lost down here again, just show someone this, they’ll take you out,” she says. In her hand is a small gold chain necklace with a fire pendant. 

“Thanks, (Name).” He takes it, and hangs it around his neck. “I’ll treasure it.”

“You better. Well, cheers. Try not to come back here again.”

She walks back to where the two just entered, waving a goodbye to him without looking back.

For a brief second, the alleyway lights up in blazing flames. An inferno, threatening to destroy everything in its path, rages high up into the sky, reaching out to him-

He blinks and rubs his eyes, and the mirage is gone.

The sounds of cars behind him roar by. Kuroo turns around to face reality once again.

\--

_“Even the sadness of those days, even the pain of those days_

_I loved every bit of it, with you by my side”_

_\--_

Weeks later, Kuroo gets a letter in a slightly crumpled envelope with no return address printed on it.

“Oh? Kuroo, what’s this? Has a fan sent you a letter of admiration? Or is this a secret lover?” Bokuto asks, his chin resting on Kuroo’s shoulder. The owlish man apparently didn’t catch the small fire emblem printed on the corner.

He opens up the envelope, and starts reading:

“To the bassist only- 

Come over at the Dome this Friday, 10 PM. You know what I’m doing. And you know how to get there, right? Don’t get lost and magically end up here again. Oh, and don’t you dare stand me up.

From, your friend.”

“Awww, how come I wasn’t invited?” Bokuto whines. “Bro, tell ‘em I’m the showstopping star!”

“Is this person authorized?” Tsukishima asks, sipping his coffee on the couch. “This could be dangerous.”

“Is Tsukki caring about my wellbeing?” Kuroo exclaims. “Oh, how touching!”

The blond rolls his eyes. “I was saying, if you went, you might get caught, and this idiot” – he points to Bokuto – “wouldn’t be able to shut up if that happened. Go die, for all I care.”

With an exasperated sigh, Kuroo falls onto the carpet. “When will Tsukki realize how awesome I am, bro?” 

Bokuto imitates Kuroo, also flopping onto the carpet. “I don’t know, bro. We both rock, and the world will die without us,” he declares.

“The world would be better off without you two,” Akaashi comments, not even looking up from his book.

“Hey!”

A bit later, Tsukishima and Akaashi approach the bassist when Bokuto’s out of sight (canoodling around the city).

“So, are you going to tell us who the person is?” Akaashi asks.

“Take a wild guess," Kuroo responds. "Had to do with my little disappearing act the other day."

Tsukishima’s eyes narrow in thought for a bit, then they widen as the realization hits him.

“You’re kidding.”

“Unless you’re thinking of BLC59, then nope.”

“Are you aware of the dangers that come with this?” Akaashi says, crossing his arms.

“Yeah. Well aware.”

“And yet you’re still going, I’m guessing?”

Was he going? Despite the threat in the letter, (Name) knew about the dangers that Kuroo would face if they were seen together. She may have been reckless, but she'd never force others to be in danger. And Kuroo didn't want to waste away his status and position he worked hard for all on some concert with an Underground singer with a large target on her head. 

But his life was undeniably missing something, and he wanted to know what.

Kuroo sighs and flops backwards on the couch.

"Probably," is the answer that comes out. Despite the ambiguity of the word, it's said with a strong conviction.

"What? Are you asking to get killed?" Tsukishima immediately replies with a look of shock on his face. "After all we've done, you're just going to throw it away on a stupid concert with her? I thought you better than this, Kuroo-san."

Dark eyes stare at the blank ceiling.

"I promised her this, a long time ago.”

A silence settles in between the three of them.

To some degree, Akaashi and Tsukishima could understand where Kuroo’s coming from—(Name)'s concerts were an experience they could still remember the thrill and energy of, despite the many years that had passed since their Underground days.

They were all aware of that missing _thing_ they held in their hearts, that made itself present sometimes when they were tuning their instruments or when they saw the subdued audience in front of them.

Akaashi’s the first to speak up. “Do whatever you want. We probably can’t stop you anyways.”

And Kuroo also had a _something_ that Akaashi and Tsukishima never had with (Name).

“We’ll cover for you if anything bad happens, I guess,” Tsukishima adds with a slight sigh. “Give her our regards.”

To Kuroo, the two knew, that _something_ was a thing he'd risk his life for.

“I will." The bassist rises from his spot on the couch, and starts walking to their practice room. "Thanks.”

"Don't do anything stupid out there."

"I won't."

\--

_“I can't go home until the rain lets up_

_And even now, you're my light”_

\--

It’s 9:30 PM, Friday. Kuroo’s in the dressing room where a sharply-dressed stylist with chocolate locks is attempting—and failing miserably—to fix his bedhead.

"Just exactly what do you do with this?" the man whines, combing his fingers desperately through the raven strands.

"Huh? Well, I always sleep with two pillows next to my sides, otherwise I can't sleep," Kuroo responds, looking into the mirror. The face that stares back is one with much more makeup than he's used to, but it was vibrant and managed to not be tacky. Despite the stylist's—Oikawa or something—general shallowness, he knew what he was doing.

"You know, that's probably why you have this mess of hair! You need to properly take care of this!" 

“Yo, appreciate the effort you’re trying there, Assikawa, but hair like that is impossible,” a voice says. (Name)’s leaning against the entrance of the dressing room, wearing a glitzy black ensemble that fitted her quite well.

“Hey! You make me come all this way only to tell me I can’t do this? Is my time worth nothing to you?” The stylist pouts, sticking out his tongue. 

“Teru said he was busy—I’d obviously have him in a heartbeat compared to you.”

“You’re being a meanie! Hmpf!” He crosses his arms, looking away. “But, I guess I’m not needed here then. I’ll let you two have your own time together~” he winks at her before he leaves the room. 

She takes a seat right next to Kuroo, muttering “that damn playboy” underneath her breath and starts doing last-minute touchups to her makeup.

“So, what makes you call me up at this hour?” Kuroo says, adjusting his old jacket that still fitted him comfortably, surpisingly.

“Who’s the one that said ‘we bassists lay out the foundation for the singers’, or something corny along those lines again?” her voice takes on a mocking tone as she applies a bright red lipstick, her trademark color.

“Alright, I’m leaving.”

“Wait wait wait—Tetsu, I swear, that’ll be the last time I mention it,” she says, pulling at the sleeve of his jacket. “Well, in a way, you’re right. Thanks to what you said, I got a wake-up call, got serious, and now we’re here.”

“How in the world did you manage to do all of this?”

(Name) gestures wildly with her hands. “You know - send ‘em through the right pathways, make sure nobody snitches, all that jazz."

“That makes no sense.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? I’m just making you tag along to finally fulfill that promise of yours. Enjoy my show.” With a grin, she starts heading out of the dressing room.

“Wait, you can’t just not tell me the lineup! What are we playing?” Kuroo quickly follows her.

“Everything you recognize, no worries. At least, I hope you haven’t forgotten.”

* * *

_“_ _Hey, Tetsu. Say you became big one day. What do you think you wanna do?”_

_“Hmm… I’m not entirely sure yet. What about you?”_

_“I think I wanna perform at Tokyo Dome.”_

_“That big? Even if you’re authorized, isn’t it next to impossible to play there?”_

_“Yeah, but so what? I wanna have that experience, with all those fans looking straight at you, listening to what you have to say. You’re in the center of the universe, and all the stars are staring right at you. Gets me excited just thinking about it.”_

_“Really now? Well, let me know when you get there. I might just join you on that stage for the hell of it.”_

_“I’ll hold you to that.”_

Tokyo Dome is way bigger than what Kuroo expected. Authorized bands aren’t allowed to perform on large stadiums, there were special small venues so that the police could control the crowd that held up to two thousand. The cheers outside sounded like it held up to twenty-thousand, maybe even more.

“What if we get caught?” he asks, pacing around backstage with his bass in hand. “Just made it big, and I’ve got girls who don’t want these looks to die.”

“They’ll turn to someone else in your band to fangirl over, like Akaashi or Tsukki. Or maybe clone you if you’re that valuable. Can they do that yet?” (Name) twirls the mic in her hand, standing comfortably in her spot.

“We still haven’t gotten to that stage yet, dummy. Have you been living under a rock underground?"

“You’ll be fine." She completely ignores the jab. "It’s too late to back out now, anyways. The crew’s good at covering up asses, right? Especially ‘lil Tsukki. Hey, is he taller than you?” Her eyes are wide open, staring at him innocently.

_How are you not nervous?_

“Psh, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he argues, crossing his arms.

“How much taller? Hmm?” she grins.

“Point six centimeters,” he sighs, though he's not really sad about that. This brief moment of backstage banter was more than enough to make up for it.

She laughs gleefully, like it’s the best news she’s ever heard in a long while. “Hah! You’re not the tallest anymore!”

“You’re still short compared to me.”

“Oi! Watch it!”

“Before I forget, they told me to give you their regards.”

The smile on her face lessens, looking almost sad.

“Tell ‘em I said thanks.”

Kuroo can hear the countdown of the fans outside, and he looks back at her one more time, before they expose themselves to the world waiting for them.

"(Name)-" he begins, wanting to just have a bit more time with her before they had to go, but—

"Let's make some good music out there, Tetsu," she cuts in, grinning at him.

“5!”

“4!”

“3!”

“2!”

“1!!”

"Yeah, let's."

They walk onto the large stage in the center of the stadium.

It hits him, hard. The feeling of being at the center of the universe.

All the fans that fill the seats are there just for them. An ocean of colored lights, twinkling at him like the stars, is the only thing he sees. Their cheers and screams fill his ears, but the blood pounding in his ears is louder than anything. 

The spotlights turn to them. He’s almost blinded by how bright it is.

“Everybody, thanks for coming today!” (Name) yells into the mic, her voice reaching to all corners of the stadium. “It’s so cool finally being able to perform somewhere this big! And with my buddies Tetsu, Semi, and Noya here! But most of all, it’s thanks to everybody here I can finally do this!”

The crowd cheers in response and Kuroo's never heard something so _loud_ before. In the first place, he's never performed in front of a crowd this big. He looks at (Name), who seems to be soaking in the whole experience, enjoying every last bit of it. Kuroo's fingers are a bit clammy, but he manages to form a smirk and wave at the massive crowd. How many people here knew him? The old band was popular in the Underground, and he wondered if there were still some loyal fans scattered about.

“Well, we’re not gonna keep you waiting! Hit it, Noya!”

Noya lets out a big whoop, reminding him a bit like a certain orange-haired recruit that just joined the company. Noya hits the cymbals, and counts them in.

_\--_

_If you're somewhere now, just the way I am_

_Trapped in loneliness, suffering and crying_

_\--_

_“Hey, (Name). D’you ever think about what happens if we get caught?”_

_“What’s with this question all of a sudden?”_

_“Just humor me for a bit, ‘kay?”_

_“I’d definitely wanna go down with a fight. Then I guess I’ll bury myself in the flames, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting anybody get me first.”_

_“What the hell does that mean? With how you are though, I’m sure you’d get yourself caught by accident.”_

_“Oi. What are you trying to imply?”_

_"I'm just saying, you're really stupid sometimes. It could end up getting you one day."_

_"I'm deeply honored you care for my wellbeing, Tetsu! I'm crying!"_

_"You don't look like it."_

_Her head is leaning on his shoulder. They're sitting on the ground, taking a break from practice._

_"But, you know, sometimes you just have to do some crazy things to live life."_

Kuroo isn’t sure how he’s playing. It’s mostly muscle memory from days way back with a bit of improv. Somehow, it works. The crowd is going in a frenzy, singing along with the lyrics.

He’s not nervous anymore. In fact, an old part of him is resurfacing, the one that enjoys the thrill of the crowd, the slight fear of being caught, but playing on regardless. He can feel the drumming beneath his feet like claps of thunder. The guitarist and pianist, a tall, slender man with light-colored hair and dark tips, meshes in perfectly with them, even though Kuroo had just met him an hour before. The two share a knowing look, both knowing exactly what the other was feeling.

He’s having fun.

Because nothing in the present is stopping him from pouring his soul out. The smirk on his mouth transforms into a full grin.

Kuroo looks at (Name) in front of him, singing her heart out. Her voice is still how he remembers it, holding the same power to draw in everybody that listens to her. Her passion is almost tangible, as if he could reach out and touch it, which only encourages him to play even harder. Maybe under different circumstances she would’ve hit it off with a certain authorized owlboy.

The first time Kuroo laid his eyes on her was when she was singing to two people in the streets. He was drawn in by her surprisingly uplifting songs, something that most Underground artists didn’t produce, claiming the pop songs are for the authorized ones, and they’d much rather sing or rap darker genres. 

Kuroo approached her later, asking why she chose such an uncommon genre to work with, to which she replied “it’s the most fun! And everybody needs some uplifting stuff once in a while.”

And because he was a nice and caring person, Kuroo asked to join her, intrigued at how she’d fare. Since then, he’s seen her blossom into a genius lyricist and singer through her endless dedication that she poured into her songs. Music was an extension of her, something she could freely manipulate to create what she wanted. It flowed through her veins just like her blood, and Kuroo could only hope he was adequate enough oxygen to connect with her.

Eventually, Akaashi and Tsukishima joined and their popularity continued to grow, until they became the top artists. She remained the center of the band, the one that lifted everybody up with her words, eventually becoming the face of the Underground. 

The one that was his star. 

The song ends, and the cheers grow even louder.

“You guys have been the best crowd ever! Thanks so much for coming today! One last song before you all go, ok?” Her voice is hoarse, but she still continues her booming shout.

The fans reply back with an even wilder cheer. Kuroo’s fingers haven’t hurt so much since his authorized debut. He’s exhausted, and his hair’s drenched in sweat, but the adrenaline’s still circling through him.

Finally, he realizes.

This is what he was missing.

He doesn’t want this to end.

_\--_

_Somehow, please, just forget about me_

_I wish for it so strongly, with all my heart_

_\--_

"Rou-san, where are you going?”

Their manager, a tall man broadly built. is blocking the entrance of the company building. Kuroo had managed to slip by everybody, but the one obstacle had to be the hardest.

“I can’t explain—just let me go—I have something to do—“ he tries pushing past him, but to no avail.

“You have a performance coming up soon. I can’t let you run away, especially after the incident the other day.” His name was Ushijima, though most people just called him Ushiwaka. Nobody really knew much about him, but he was known to be intimidating with just a few words.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, do you really think I care about that right now?” Kuroo clicks his tongue, clenching his fists, still trying his best to find an opportunity to slip by.

"It would be in your best interest to do so."

"Look here, I'm not gonna do anything wild this time around. You're probably well aware of my history with (Na— _(Stage Name)_ ," he quickly corrects himself. "I can't just not show up and pay my respects to her. I don't know you that well, but you gotta understand that, right?"

He told Akaashi he'd figure something out, but he's not even sure what he's saying anymore.

"You do realize you are severely damaging the company's reputation by doing this," Ushijima finally speaks. "We cannot have you endangering our name—"

"Look, I'm not gonna be doing something wild anymore, alright? I get it, but at least just let me"—he swallows down a large lump in his throat—"say goodbye at least."

The tall, imposing man in front him simply stares for a couple moments, unblinking. But Kuroo holds his ground, staring straight back into the olive hues.

And then, like a miracle, Ushijima steps aside, ever so slightly.

"You have two hours. No more, no less."

Of all people, their manager had actually let him go?

"I'll be back before you know it," he grins.

"And please—send my respects to (Name)."

Kuroo's mouth opens wide for a moment, then closes just as quickly.

"Yeah, you got it."

* * *

Kuroo can play this song in his dreams. It was their most popular song when the band was still Underground. When he asked her who the lyrics were written for in jest, she simply replied with a smile, saying, “they’ll know in time.”

_“Since then, when I think of you_

_Someone I loved”_

The crowd is also singing along. Even Kuroo finds his lips moving. 

The singer looks back to Kuroo, grinning at him. The same one that she used whenever any fan had come up to them in awe, or when she had thought of new lyrics to a song, or when she told Kuroo of her dreams all those years ago.

Kuroo wanted to keep it to himself, but he knows she wasn’t to be hogged by anybody. Her eyes were always on everybody that watched them, cheered for them, sang along with them. 

_“More than I ever thought_

_My breath stops”_

Her eyes are still on him. 

Kuroo’s dark eyes meet hers, which are shining brilliantly under the lights.

Could she have felt the same thing too, for all these years?

His heart beats just a bit faster.

He would, however, never be able to say the words.

_“Even though you were by my side_

_It's almost like a lie”_

But something’s wrong.

He hears too many sirens outside. The stadium’s cheering drowns out most of it, but from the small windows surrounding the sides, he could see the flashing blue and red lights surrounding them.

He glances towards her. She either doesn’t notice it or pays it no attention, instead still focusing on her song.

_“But I'll never forget it_

_That's the only thing I know for sure”_

Circumstances never let her finish the song.

Squadrons of officers bust down the doors and the cheering slowly turns into widespread panic.

“Noya, Semi, you know where to go. Tetsu, follow them,” she says grimly.

Noya nods, and beckons Kuroo to follow. “Hurry up, we’ve got an exit route.”

For some reason, he can’t move.

“(Name), what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me, just go!”

Waves of police sweep in, some carrying riot shields, others stun guns. 

“Everybody on the stage stop what you’re doing!” one yells. 

“Tetsu, what are you doing?”

“You have broken Section Six, Article B, Clause 6 of the Code! Unauthorized musicians may not perform under any circumstances in public! This is a punishable offense! Come down from the stage, and we won’t order a harsh penance!”

Soon, some of the officers make their way to the stage.

She remains at her place on the stage, struggling to get away, lashing out at the officers, but it was futile. They handcuff her, and she’s dragged away from him, away from the stage, away from all the chaos.

He can’t do anything.

He’s rooted in his spot.

And he blacks out.

* * *

“So, what are you going to do now?” Akaashi asks the bassist, as the three of them head up the stairs to their dorm (Bokuto wasn’t briefed about the situation, since he was completely clueless about the whole thing).

Kuroo doesn’t answer for a good while, collecting his thoughts. The blue sky and the bright sun shining from the window taunts him, acting as if nothing had happened. 

He's free now, but at what cost?

Akaashi unlocks the door, and they all step inside.

“I’m going back there," Kuroo announces, kicking off his shoes.

“Didn't I tell you to not do anything stupid?” Tsukishima rolls his eyes, pushing past him and takes a seat on their couch.

“I can't go back," he rasps. "Not anymore. It just wouldn't—be the same anymore."

"You think that's what she wanted?" Akaashi's cold voice cuts in, leaning against the side of the unoccupied couch. "For you to end up just the same?"

"What the fuck do you know about her?" Anger rises in his tone. "I was the one there, I was the one who could've _done something,_ but I just stood there like an _idiot_ —and now, she's gonna get _killed_ —"

"We know her as well," and it's the first time Kuroo hears Akaashi with a raised voice. "Don't act like you were the only one. But do you really think that she would've wanted you to blindly follow her to your demise as well?"

"Then why would she do something like this?" He throws his hands up in exasperation. "There could've been no way she knew she wouldn't get caught! Besides, you can't tell me you really like what we're doing right now."

_What did you want to show me?_

He had been thinking about that question a lot nowadays, but he's still not sure of the answer to it.

"We can survive if we do this—"

"Like hell I care about surviving now. Look, I—goddammit," his fist slams down onto the wall behind him, making a dull thud. "I knew at that concert, that was what I was missing all along. If I go back now, it just won't be the _same_."

He already had what he wanted with you, but he realized that too late.

_Why did you do this?_

"We have a life here now. Even if you might think you're missing something, it'd be rude to leave all of a sudden, wouldn't it?" Tsukishima interjects.

"You guys could come with me, we could start over down there again—"

"Don't give me that bullshit, Kuroo," he spits out. "If she knew so well she would've been caught, but still did it anyways, don't you think that was what her goal was?"

"But why? She couldn't have been satisfied with just that!" Kuroo grits his teeth. "There was still so much she could've done, but she had to go and just give it up like that!"

_Why did you leave?_

Akaashi responds this time, with a less harsh tone. "We're never going to know that now. But she probably knew she was going to get caught eventually, and wanted to take it in her own hands."

_"I’m sure you’re well aware, seeing as you’re a part of them. Your guys want my head."_

_"But, you know, sometimes you just have to do some crazy things to live life."_

Words you had said to him before, that he didn't think of much back then, but now they made all the more sense.

_Did you already have the concert planned out by then? Did you know you would’ve ended up like this?_

He had so many questions, all to which he would never had the answers for.

A _tsk_ escapes from his mouth.

Despite everything, Tsukishima was right; it wouldn't be fair to his band if he left, especially if they don't want to leave.

At the same time, what was Kuroo supposed to do?

"I'm gonna go back there. Just to say a last goodbye," he finally says hoarsely, starting the walk to his room. "At least let me do that."

Nothing made sense to him anymore. His world was spinning upside down, and he's not sure how to fix it.

"We have practice until 11 at night for the rest of the week," Akaashi says.

"I'll figure something out." He stalks to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

But this thing, he had to do.

* * *

Kuroo’s stumbling around the city, fumbling like a man who’s had one too many drinks he could handle. 

It’s dark outside. The moon hangs high in the sky, glowing faintly. Beams of light sweep across the streets, accompanied by the vivid, neon flashing signs of stores. They dance in his mind, as if trying to confuse him, bring him back to that night.

That night.

Only this time, there was no loud cheers, no music playing; just the sounds of cars and people rushing by.

He sees somebody wearing her boots—

“Hey! (Name), is that you?” He reaches out and places a hand on your shoulder.

“Who are you? Can you please get away from me?”

He’s immediately swatted away.

“Oh, sorry. Mistook you for somebody else.”

Her face is nothing like yours.

Kuroo trudges forward. He’s turning in random alleyways, losing all sense of direction. He wants to be anywhere but here, and he’d give anything away for that.

_What’s the point anyways? You’re gone now._

And then a voice calls out.

“Oi, what are you doing down here? One more step and you’re in the Underground.”

He thinks it's you. But the voice is too low to be yours.

A man appears out of the shadows, his blond hair and piercings looking red underneath the street lamp. There’s no sense of menace or a threat. Only bitterness.

“Then take me back there,” he rasps, showing the fire pendant to the man.

“That’s (Name)’s, alright. Do you need to get out of here?”

“Just take me to where she is.”

* * *

The lights of the city are pure white.

Everybody’s wearing black. The town, which once held so much vibrancy, has now been dulled, is reduced to a state of monochrome.

He half expected the man to actually take him to the living, breathing (Name). Then he’d be happy again, knowing she was OK, and that she could still be producing music, and they’d all have fun like in the old days.

But the other part of him expected where they stopped. 

The white, marble slab. 

The man pushes the two iron doors.

The only place Kuroo hasn’t visited.

“Well, she’s got the grand grave, pretty noticeable. Just go… right on in. Take your time. Her ceremony is already done.” The man runs off, choking on his words.

Kuroo enters the cemetery. It’s a field, littered with flowers and headstones, an air of desolation hanging like mist. There's no breeze, but for some reason, Kuroo's whole body is trembling. Is it out of fear? He sees a crowd of people huddled at one spot, and guesses it’s where yours is.

 _Kenma Kozume… Iwaizumi Hajime… Futakuchi Kenji…_ The names flash in his mind as he walks to your gravestone, half-dragging his feet, not wanting to face this.

Some people are crying, sniffling, their tears running down like rivers, while others are holding back theirs, desperately trying to keep their composure. Still, some more are completely blank-faced, as if they still hadn’t registered what they were seeing.

“Oikawa, really, it’ll be fine. Let’s not cry for her, she wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“But Iwa-chan and her are gone now!”

“Yaku-san, is she... is she with Kenma-san now?”

“Yeah…”

Kuroo stands there, looking at the tall gravestone. (Last Name) (Name) is carved into it with straight, unwavering lines. It didn't suit you.

_“In the slim, slim off-chance I do disappear off the face of this planet-”_

_“(Name), please don’t say that.”_

_“Tetsu, just hear me out. When I do go away one day, what would you do?”_

_“Who knows. I’ll figure something out then.”_

He looks upwards.

_For a genius lyricist like you, you’re kinda dumb, did you know?_

The dark sky up doesn’t offer him any answers.

_Damn you._

Tears threaten to fall out from the corners of his eyes.

_And I couldn’t even say I love you._

He closes his eyes, and starts humming underneath his breath.

The final words you never sang.

\--

_"Even now, you're my light.”_

_\--_


	5. duende. (iwaizumi hajime)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> duende: the mysterious power that a work of art has to deeply move a person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> artist reader, first meetings.

“Iwa-chan! Hurry up! I’m not going to wait for you!” Oikawa calls out, a little ways in front of the spiker.

The cool autumn wind brushes Iwaizumi’s cheeks as he jogs to catch up to the setter, muttering a couple of obscenities under his breath.

"For the last time, why are we going to an art museum again?” the ace grumbles. He’d much rather be back at the school gym or inside his house than accompany Oikawa on one of his capricious visits, but Iwaizumi had to make sure he didn’t go too wild.

“There’s a cute girl who’s presenting something there! I have the information in this brochure, see?” The setter answers, taking out a brochure in his pocket, and hands it to Iwaizumi. 

“Assikawa, stalking people is a federal offense. I never knew you stooped this low.” He opens up the brochure and skims through it, not particularly caring of its contents, and shoves it into his pockets.

“Iwa-chan! I don’t stalk girls, they come to me!” Indignant, Oikawa crosses his arms and sticks his tongue out.

“Whatever, Creepykawa.”

"And stop calling me that!"

* * *

The two walk into the museum and get their tickets. The lobby’s filled with people milling around, some examining maps, others on their phones, most of them examining the art. Hanging down from the ceiling is a porcelain blue glass chandelier that almost blinds Iwaizumi. It shines on the wooden and metal sculpture right in the center, the two materials intertwining, as if they were locked in an eternal dance together.

Of course, Iwaizumi didn’t understand what the hell it was supposed to be. 

The spiker immediately loses Oikawa in the sea of people, who mentioned “I’m going to go find the cute girl now! Bye!” and left Iwaizumi on his own, with absolutely no knowledge of where to go.

_Now I have to look at art, don’t I?_

Of course, he could also ditch Shittykawa, but a small part of him tells him to “just be a good friend and stay.” Not like he has much to do anyways.

Iwaizumi first wanders to the Greek sculpture exhibition, and upon entering he’s slightly alarmed at the nude marble figure looming over him, and tries to walk by without staring too much. This plan turns out to be ineffective, since every single sculpture displays some sort of private part without shame. He quickly exits the exhibit, his cheeks flaming.

The next exhibits don’t have anything that catches Iwaizumi’s eyes. The realistic paintings of landscapes, while large and Iwaizumi certainly admired the detailing, he didn’t find all that interesting on a personal level. The Picasso exhibit left him confused about life and what existence meant, and the pottery exhibit are, well, pots. Sometimes vases. There’s even a plate thrown in there.

Iwaizumi doesn’t hate art, he just didn’t understand why people were so enamored with the subject. He owned a fair share of Jump back at home, but only picked them up if he was bored, unlike a certain redhead middle blocker. He did quite enjoy Godzilla as a kid, but that was more entertainment rather than a piece of art, all things considered. In art class he did the bare minimum just to get by.

As he goes through each exhibit, he catches little tidbits of people gushing over the craftsmanship, the use of color, or some other niche jargon Iwaizumi didn’t know of. 

Maybe he’d get the whole art thing if he found a piece he really liked, but he hasn’t had that opportunity yet.

He finishes pretending to examine a pot with cerulean blue dragons running across the body of it, and wonders how long of this he'll have to endure. He unfolds the crumpled brochure from his pocket, trying to find where the presentation will be held.

 _Stupid Oikawa. Couldn’t he have just gone alone?_ Iwaizumi has had his fair share of experiences when Oikawa’s picked up girls, either successful or not, and when he dumped them. The vice captain never offered any words of support or consolation, as Oikawa alone could do more than enough of the work with his appearance and words. 

On the other hand, the few girls who did try to approach Iwaizumi just saw him as a stepping stone to get closer to the Aobajousai captain. They were all eventually scared off by his vulgar words and crass actions.

Not that he was jealous of Oikawa. Iwaizumi has entertained the idea of having a girlfriend before, but later dismissed it. With _that_ man constantly nearby, who was flirtatious and disgustingly charming, there’s never a chance for the one who looked and acted like a delinquent.

It was always Oikawa, and the spiker was long used to this fact.

He looks at the small picture of the speaker on the brochure. In small print next to it, it said (Last Name) (Name), and gave a short biography on your work.

He had to admit, you did look kind of cute. 

He aimlessly drifts into the modern art exhibition. He sees canvases with paint splattered on carelessly, lit up by the soft lights next to them, sculptures of abstract designs, some made of shining, polished metal and others of plastic. 

More things he didn’t get. Though, the film projection on one wall did seem kind of interesting.

He comes to the end of the room, and a piece of art sucks him in at once.

The canvas is gigantic. Even taller than Iwaizumi, as it reached from the top of the ceiling to the bottom of the floor. Near the bottom of the painting are tan colors, slightly differing in hue, which he presumes to be the ground. The rest is a dark chocolate color, and the very top space is a creamy white. Muted but varied colors dot the dark brown area, as if they were spectators to the main scene. Five streaks of white and blue occupy most of the painting. A sixth streak is higher than the rest, and right next to it is a circle of yellow and blue. The opposite side held black and orange streaks in different positions. Each swatch resembles a human being, but simplified and abstracted. 

To Iwaizumi, the streak in the middle was spiking a ball over the net. In fact, the whole painting seemed like an abstracted volleyball game. It was like the painting captured all of the swirling emotions on court, the anxieties and thrills of playing, the rush of spiking the ball, and seeing the ball land with a thud resonating throughout the whole court, and then the deafening cheers of the audience.

Iwaizumi wants to feel it all again, to stand on a court with a fierce opponent and equally fierce team. He wants to be the streak of white, higher than the rest. His right hand, large and calloused, unconsciously clenches tightly.

Why did this painting make him itch to play in a game? 

He then notices the small plaque to the side of the painting. (Last Name) (Name), “A Match” is typed onto it in a small black font.

_Volleyball._

“That’s an interesting view you have there,” a voice behind him speaks up.

He turns around and faces a girl who looks about the same age as him.

_Wait, where do I recognize her face?_

“Oh, did you hear what I said? My bad. I was just thinking about what this reminded me of. I feel like I’m wrong though,” he replies, slightly embarrassed. 

“There’s no right or wrong in art, there’s just varying interpretations of the same thing. So, what made you think of volleyball?”

“The streak in the middle looks like they’re spiking a ball and the background reminds me of the stands at a gymnasium. There’s 6 of the same colors for each team, which is the exact number for a volleyball team on the court. Also, the ball is yellow and blue, which are the colors of a Mikasa.” he explains, gesturing to the painting.

“Hmm. Not many people would see that, but I suppose it’s natural for a volleyball player like you.” She checks the time on her phone, and her eyes widen in panic.

 _How did you know?_ Before Iwaizumi has a chance to ask-

“Ah! I have to go now, sorry! Nice talking to you though!” Without another word, the girl starts to speed walk out of the exhibit.

“Wait! Can I, um, get your name? I’m Iwaizumi Hajime!” Iwaizumi calls out.

“(Last Name) (Name). Nice to meet you, Iwaizumi-san!” she answers, and disappears out of his sight.

* * *

You’re half-jogging in the museum, as fast as you could go without getting kicked out, trying to get to where you’ll be holding your artist talk. A couple of dirty looks are thrown your way as you (somewhat unsuccessfully, given how not-so-athletic you are) weave and dodge through the masses, making sure to not bump into any of the works on display.

 _So he came?_ A small smile graces your lips as you see the small stage currently set up in the distance at the cafe area of the museum.

_I’ve never had one of my inspirations see my artwork or even recognize what my painting was._

You remembered that day’s events, stone-etched into your brain, as you watched in awe, the volleyball game between your school and the rival’s. It was intense and nail-biting, and you wanted to capture it all into a single painting as soon as you got home. Such a big event deserved a canvas of massive proportions, and you spent countless nights working on it, energized by the swirling of emotions you had felt back in the arena.

And you’ll definitely never forget that powerful spike of Iwaizumi Hajime, the one that took your very breath away at its sheer ferocity.

The one at the center of the painting.

_duende: the mysterious power that a work of art has to deeply move a person._


	6. seven years. (akaashi keiji)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say if a friendship lasts for seven years, it'll last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just the story of two people growing up in this world. loosely based off of “5cm per second” dir. makoto shinkai.

[6 november 2007]

_They say if a friendship lasts for 7 years, it’ll last forever._

You met Akaashi Keiji, a boy of few but strong words during the third year of elementary school.

He had just transferred in, moving from Osaka. Osaka! Such a strange, short name on your tongue. You’ve never even stepped outside of the small island of Tanegashima, rolling around a bit too clunky in your mouth, a tiny dot down at the southern tip of Kyushu, let alone onto the main island.

Some might’ve called it the red string of fate. Others might’ve called it love at first sight.

Either way, you wanted to get to know this boy, because he always had a book in his hands. He had to be smart, right? And you wanted to be smart, so you tried your best to talk to him.

It was, honestly, the most painful years of your life that you had thus experienced. The first two years he was in the other class. The third year you hit the jackpot and ended up being in the same class! Only problem was that his head was still stuck in his book.

An agonizing couple weeks later, you finally decided to do something after spending a torturous night scheming two hours past your bedtime - 

“Hey, Akaashi-kun! Do you want to ride bicycles with me around the island?” You had asked, plopping yourself right in front of his desk after school one day.

It was the perfect plan.

He looks up from his book. It looked big and filled with many pages.

“Why should I do that?”

“Well my mother says you get bad eyes if you read books for too long, so you should come and ride a bicycle with me! It’ll be fun, I promise!”

“Your mother is lying. You can only get eye strain, but your vision won’t get bad.”

He then returns to his book.

It was not the perfect plan.

Not one for giving up though, you try again the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next,

Until finally—

“Alright, I’ll go with you. After this, please don’t bother me," he replies, shutting his book with an exasperated sigh.

“Yay! Let’s go now then!” You practically drag him out of the classroom to where the bicycles were parked at the front of the school and set off on the road.

A good mile or so later, he’s out of breath.

“C’mon Akaashi-kun! Hurry up!” You yell at the boy, who’s struggling to get up a hill.

“(Last Name)-san, I just don’t have as much energy as you do,” he pants, feet struggling to push down on the pedals.

“It’s ‘cus you spend all your time reading books! Now get up this hill before I completely ditch you forever!”

After what felt like an eternity, he finally gets up the hill and slumps over the handles of his bicycle.

“Look here, isn’t this view great?” You excitedly point to the large tree in the center of an expansive grass field. Its leaves are currently a red and orange hue, swaying in the wind.

“It’s OK, I guess,” he says, gasping for large breaths of air between each word. _What a frail boy,_ you thought.

“Just OK? Wait until you see it during the spring! Then it’ll knock your socks off, I promise!”

The next few days, to your surprise, Akaashi ends up tagging along with you on your biking journeys.

You don’t mind. You show him to a couple of other cool sightseeing locations, most of them that included the sea. 

“What’s Osaka like, by the way?” You had asked one day, when the two of you reached a straight road.

“Hmm. Way more developed than this island, with a lot of skyscrapers, transmission towers, and electronic corporations.”

He said a bunch of fancy words at the end you didn’t understand.

“What are sky-scrapers, trans-miss-ion towers, and elec-tronic cor-por-ations?”

“Really tall buildings with a lot of people in them, what’s used to send signals, and the headquarters of where things running on electricity are made.”

Even with his explanation, you still didn’t really get it.

“Well, we have something cooler! Do you know about the Space Center?”

“Yes, though I haven’t visited it yet.”

You give him a large grin. “Alright! That’s where we’ll be going tomorrow then!”

“OK.”

The next day right after school, the two of you biked down to the far end of the island where the space center was.

And indeed, the Tanegashima Space Center was truly a marvelous sight. The two of you stopped to look at it from a distance on a grassy stretch. It stood on a small peninsula, surrounded by the sea on all sides. Unfortunately, there was no rocket on the launchpad today, but there were talks of one launching in a couple of years, a time period your brain couldn't yet comprehend. There were a lot of tall “transmission towers” surrounding the area.

“One day, I’m gonna be an astronaut!” you announced to him, the sea breeze playing with your hair. “Then I’ll be able to see all the different planets and stars and aliens!”

“Really? Good luck then. You’ll need to be well-learned in many aspects and be quite athletic," he responds, still keeping his neutral expression.

“No problem! And then you’ll be able to see my rocket launch off into space, since there’s none today!”

“I look forward to it.”

2 months later, again to your surprise, he’s faster than you on his bicycle.

“Akaashi-kun, how’d you end up getting faster than me? It’s unfair!” you whined to him one day as you're pedaling next to him, doing your best to catch up.

“Boys have naturally stronger bodies.”

What he doesn't tell you is the nights he had spent cycling around the island to catch up to you.

“We’ll see about that! I’ll race you to the beach!” You start pedaling faster as a tailwind pushes by.

And that was the official start of your friendship with the boy called Akaashi Keiji. 

[28 march 2008]

You finally end up showing him the large tree during the end of March. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, it’s pretty light pink flowers scattering in the wind and flying everywhere.

“Keiji-kun, doesn’t it look super pretty?”

A small smile graces his lips. It’s the first you ever see. 

“You’re right, (Name)-san. It indeed is pretty.”

“Hah, I told you so! Alright, I’m racing you to the beach and winning today!”

The next day, you asked your parents to take a commemorative photo of Keiji and you in front of the tree as "proof that Keiji-kun visited this tree." You gave him a copy in school, which he graciously accepted and placed in his backpack with care.

And then, two months later, he moved away.

[5 march 2010]

_Dear Keiji-kun,_

_How have you been lately? How’s your new house? I bet it’s really cool with pretty things, like your old house! That big cherry blossom tree I showed you has started to bud again! Mom says we’ll be able to see it flower around late March as usual. You should come over then to see it! Please take care of yourself._

_Yours,_

_(Last Name) (Name)_

The day Akaashi Keiji moved away, you were sad. While you had many friends in elementary school, you ended up hanging out with him for the most. Keiji however, had the same indifferent expression on his face as you cried for a bit, patting your back.

“Don’t cry. It’ll be fine,” he said that day. The two of you were sitting in the field underneath the giant tree, providing a nice shade from the sun.

“Well, come back when you can, OK?” you replied, slightly sniffling.

“Yeah. We’ll be a bit far away though, so probably not that many visits.”

“You’d need to fly here and then take the ferry… But I’m jealous you get to go to Tokyo," you sulk, grabbing fistfuls of grass in your chubby hands.

You had also wanted to go to Tokyo and get off this small island with nothing of much interest, but your parents were firmly against the idea, saying things like "you just want to follow Keiji-kun" or "it would be too risky to go." What was so bad about spending some more time with your friend? And any risk, you'd be more than willing to take on.

 _Adults suck_ , was what your brain repeated over and over for many days to come. _They don't have any fun._ You hoped you could be a kid forever, only worrying about making sure to catch the reruns of your favorite television show, staying perfectly still to catch some bugs, or beating Keiji to the beach.

“I’ll miss this place, though. And you,” the end which he added a bit quietly.

“I’ll miss you too, Keiji!” You envelop him in a giant hug.

The two of you end up sending letters to each other as the main form correspondence. Each month, you’d get a letter from him, and send one back. It was mostly just regular kid talk, such as what was on TV, how Kouta-kun’s dog couldn't see that well anymore, how food in Tokyo tasted like, and whether Keiji ever saw any celebrities out in the streets (which he did not, unfortunately. He'd send you a picture of Watanabe Ken if he ever saw him though).

Keiji always seemed to be doing interesting things in Tokyo (seriously, what was with him and going to all of the cool cities?) while you were still stuck on the small island of Tanegashima. It’s not like you absolutely hated the island now—there were cool older people that surfed, which you just started trying to learn. Teenagers were cool, they could surf all day. Adults were still not cool, they didn't want you near the waters.

You inhale the cool air as you pedal on your bicycle, the tall grasses brushing against you sways in the wind. Pretty soon, the dim light from the post office is visible. This month’s letter is neatly tucked in the pocket of your jacket. You slow to a halt in front of the slightly rusty mailbox, and drop off the crisp white envelope, sealed just an hour ago.

You continue down the path, illuminated by the glowing sunset in the distance, the rolling hills a golden color. The wind tousles your hair around and pushes your bicycle forward. To your right is the enormous cherry blossom tree standing in the middle of a field, with pink buds just starting to sprout on its branches that are waving at you in greeting. You wave back with a large grin on your face.

You hope Keiji can come back and see it again.

[28 march 2010]

_Dear (Name)-san,_

_Thank you for your letter, and I’m doing fine. How have you been? My house isn’t much bigger than the old one. I haven’t met anyone interesting yet at my middle school, but I hope to make a couple of friends here. Though I’m not sure how many of them would force me biking, like you did. Most students use the bus here rather than bicycles. I’ve also joined the volleyball team. My mother says I can go to your place on the thirtieth. We’ll be staying over for Golden Week. I hope the flowers are already in bloom by then._

_Yours,_

_Akaashi Keiji_

His watch reads 8:50 PM as he gets off the ferry, the last one to arrive at Tanegashima. It had been an extremely long plane ride, and he got slightly seasick on the ferry. He’s glad to feel solid ground beneath his feet.

And then he sees you looking a bit taller and older, beaming at the docks. You run like the wind straight to him, arms outstretched.

“Keiji! Yay, you finally came! I missed you!” You hug him, which he returns, barely managing to not topple over. He didn't realize how much he missed your giant hugs until now.

“Hi, (Name). It’s been a while. I missed you too."

His parents had already called a cab back to where they’d be staying, letting Keiji and you roam around (the island was already empty at this time). The road is empty, not even the sound of a car going by can be heard, and the two of you walk side by side, barely brushing each other.

The two of you catch up on what’s happening in your lives; Keiji talks about how the people at his new school have been pretty nice for the most part. Volleyball has been OK so far, it was a decent sport. You told him about how you managed to stand up on your surfboard one time.

“Maybe I’ll teach you how to surf one day, and you could teach me how to play volleyball! Surfing’s pretty fun!" You exclaim, clapping your hands together. "Oh, but I’m kinda bad though." 

“I’d like that,” he replies softly, with the hint of a smile on his lips.

You finally arrive at the field, your fingers lightly sweeping by the tips of the grasses. Walk breaks into a run, and soon, the large tree, draped with pink blossoms stands right in front of you two.

“I’ve never seen this tree at night,” he comments. A full moon hangs up above, acting as a spotlight for the grand tree. Even on the ground, Keiji can make out the craters and bumps on the piece of rock, hundreds of thousands of miles away.

“Me neither.” 

The night sky’s dotted with millions of twinkling little stars that, when Keiji caught a glimpse of, were captured in your eyes.

If he had a camera, he would've taken a picture of you right there to treasure it for the years to come. Unfortunately, he doesn't, so he does his best to sear your face into his memory, memorizing all the lines and curves he can see.

And suddenly, the wind picks up, and a shower of petals rains in your faces, brushing against your clothes and fluttering onto the ground. The two of you look at each other for a split second, and then joyous mirth escapes from both of your lips as you two spin in circles, embracing the pink hues that fly down with open arms.

Tonight, the world consisted of just you, him, and the cherry blossom tree.

“Hey, Keiji, did you know if a friendship lasts for 7 years, it’ll last for eternity? Do you think we can last that long?”

“Yeah, I promise we will.” 

Once he left the week after, you only saw him once more over the course of your life.

[6 february 2011]

_Dear Keiji-kun,_

_I hope you’ve been doing well! Guess what? Once you’ve seen this letter, there’ll be a rocket launch at the Space Center! How cool is that? Anyways, I’ve started to really get the hang of surfing! I can finally ride waves consistently now! I hope you can come and see some day!_

_Yours,_

_(Last Name) (Name)_

You hop on your bike (your parents had finally bought you a bike for your 13th birthday, which meant you could cruise along the road now) and ride out to where the space center is, trying to get as close of a spot to it as you could. You end up sitting down on a patch of grass with a perfect view.

A large rocket’s on the launchpad, pointed straight upwards, and you wished Keiji could’ve been here to see it. Your breath is caught in your throat as you excitedly wait for the countdown broadcasting to reach zero.

Then, a large rumbling sound rips through the air, creating a large plume of smoke and fire. The orange rocket slowly lifts up from the platform and shoots upwards into the sky, gradually gaining more and more speed. You marvel at the sight of it as your eyes follow it as high up as you could, until the rocket becomes a tiny spark in the sky, leaving behind a trail of clouds.

Today, it makes its lonely ascension through the layers of the atmosphere. Where would it go, once it reached the end of the solar system? How did it feel, to be seeing all the stars and colors the universe had to offer? Would it be in contact with aliens? So many questions you had, that your tiny adolescent brain couldn’t even begin to formulate the answers to. 

Right there and then, you decide if the universe was going to give you the green light to become an astronaut, it would be now.

“I wanna be a astronaut!” You stand up, yelling at the top of your lungs.

Only the grass blowing in the wind and the tides of the sea respond to your declaration.

Your dream of being an astronaut fades into the wind.

[2 march, 2011]

_Dear (Name)-san,_

_Thank you for the response. That certainly does sound cool. I’m glad to hear you’ve improved with your surfing. I think I’ve gotten better at volleyball now, and while I’d love to show you some moves, I’m afraid I won’t be able to visit you this year during spring break. My parents want me to study hard this year. Maybe when things aren’t so busy, we can meet again. Good luck on your entrance exams._

_Yours,_

_Akaashi Keiji_

Akaashi is currently debating over which high school to go to. 

One is Fukurodani Academy, the other Suzumeoka, both prestigious schools any parent would be proud of their child for getting into. Due to his high skill level in volleyball, he got a sports scholarship for both.

He, however, honestly held no ambition for either. In the end, they were just two high schools out of countless others scattered across the nation. 

So when he attends a volleyball game with Fukurodani playing, he goes in with no expectations.

What he didn’t expect was to get an eyeopener.

Akaashi’s teammates at Mori Middle played just to be in a club, as did Akaashi. His playstyle was such a way that it wouldn’t be displeasing to his teammates or his coaches.

It was passionless.

But Bokuto Koutarou, a starting spiker for Fukurodani as a first year, is the exact opposite. Nobody he knew had ever played with the same intensity and passion this boisterous person did, and he was the same off court too, even bumping chests with the coach after they won.

Watching him play was a blast of ice water to the face.

For a brief moment, Akaashi recalls the time you had told him you’d become an astronaut one day.

He’s drawn in like a moth to a light. Maybe this would ultimately destroy him. But for now, he wants to know what it’s like, to play with that kind of passion.

Later that day, Akaashi chooses Fukurodani.

[16 december, 2011]

_Dear Akaashi-kun_

_It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Happy late birthday, by the way! How’s Tokyo been for you lately? I hope it hasn't been too cold over there. I heard you accepted the invitation into that one academy. That’s pretty cool! I got accepted into a school up in Miyagi, in case you didn’t know! While we’re still kind of far from each other, it’s definitely closer than Tanegashima to Tokyo. Adjusting to living here will take me a while, but I'm not worried._

_Sincerely,_

_(Last Name) (Name)_

For high school, you finally moved out of the tiny island.

Your parents had accepted a job offer way up north in Miyagi, which meant you had to take the entrance exams for the high schools there, and you ended up getting accepted into Aoba Johsai, a private school. Miyagi offered you an opportunity to escape from the rural life of Tanegashima. You could meet new people, be on the main island of Japan, and have a cool high school life, even if it was just the suburbs. All too soon, you said goodbye to the island you had been on for so long, not so much to the island itself but the self that you left there.

Your once feisty and boisterous flame, cultivated from many years by the sea and the hot summers, is now all but put out thanks to Miyagi’s cold winter. No longer did you know almost everybody that lived here, you didn’t even know a good number of the names in your homeroom. 

But there are some parts of Tanegashima that no matter how hard you tried, would never leave you, most notably the Kagoshima accent—while diluted, still had quite the differences compared to the standard one. Most people found it cool, though there were a great number of poor imitators, and you ended up being dubbed “Island Girl” by many.

You join the art club at Aoba Johsai, since it seemed the most chill. Apparently your school also had a pretty well-known volleyball team. Would you ever get to see Akaashi during matches? You didn’t end up joining as a manager since you weren’t terribly interested in any sports with balls flying to your face. 

Though that didn’t mean you didn’t know anyone on the team. By some twist of fate, you’re second cousins with Matsukawa Issei, one of the second-years on the team (of course, who you’d never seen before. When you finally met him, you were quite shocked at how tall he was, and he said he was the tallest out of his year). 

“If it isn’t (Name)-chan! How nice to see you as always~” One of the other second-years, Oikawa Tooru, greets you after their volleyball practice is over. It was customary for you to walk to and from school with Matsukawa, who had offered upon seeing you completely lost with no sense of direction during one of his runs, so you often waited outside the volleyball gym once your club activities finished.

“Oikawa-senpai. Hello.” You bite back a jab, unsure of how the pretty upperclassman would take it. 

“Quiet as always, it seems. Say, I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while, but what’s Tenagashima like?” 

This was the topic that everybody brought up whenever they wanted to talk to you. As a girl growing into her older teenager phase, you got slightly annoyed by any mention of that island. Tanegashima this, Tanegashima that! If people wanted to know so bad, why didn’t they move out to that stupid small island themselves?

But of course, this you didn’t say out loud.

“It’s Ta-ne-ga-shima, senpai. There’s not much going for it. You’re surrounded by the ocean and you got a space center.”

“A space center? That sounds cool! Oh right, wasn’t there that rocket launch a couple years back? Did you ever get to see it?” His hazel eyes sparkle curiously. 

“No,” you lied. “I wasn’t at the island then.”

A look of disappointment crosses his face, and before he could say anything-

“Shittykawa, stop bothering Matsukawa’s cousin and help clean up!” A gruff voice says, and a tanned boy steps outside the gym, grabbing Oikawa by his collar. “Hey there, (Last Name). Sorry if this guy was bothering you.” He gives you a nod.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Oh—uh, hi Iwaizumi-senpai, and it’s fine,” you mumble, trying your best to not completely freeze up.

“That hurts, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s pretty face scrunches up into a pout as he’s being dragged back inside the gym. “(Name)-chan, you can come in for a bit while you wait, if you want!”

So maybe _everybody_ in Miyagi being subdued was a false statement.

You follow them in, and you're not sure if it was your heart or your mind that did so.

[5 march 2012]

_Dear (Last Name)-san,_

_Thank you for the birthday wish. Congratulations on getting accepted into Aoba Johsai. My apologies for replying to you so late—I’ve joined the volleyball team for my high school, which is one of the top teams in Kanto, and we just finished our Nationals tournament. My position is setter, just like in Mori, and there’s a very annoying person on our team who’s terribly energetic to the point of me getting headaches just being in the same room as him. He’s quite simple-minded—_

His phone rings. 

“Hello, Bokuto-senpai? What is it?”

“Akashi-kun! Say, you wanna do anything tomorrow? I’ve got tickets to a movie-”

“It’s Ah-kaa-shi. My apologies, but I will be studying for some tests next week.”

“Boo, you’re so boring, Akaashi-kun! Bye then!” The line goes dead.

Akaashi sighs, and looks back to the letter on his desk. He picks up his pen and continues writing.

_-I hope nobody is very bothersome at your school. Anyways, I’ve got tests coming up this week, so I should be studying for them. Hope you’re doing well._

_Sincerely,_

_Akaashi Keiji_

As he went to a Tokyo middle school, Akaashi had no trouble adjusting to high school, unlike you. Though, he never cared much for the social atmosphere at school in the first place.

If he did have to name a problem, it would be how Bokuto called him “Akashi-kun” and tired him to his bones during practice, but that part he doesn’t mind. Currently, his primary focus is to get a bit stronger physically, to keep up his grades, and eventually get a starting position on the team next year.

Akaashi exits his house, and places the letter in the mailbox. Across the street from him, he sees a small cherry blossom tree that has yet to bloom. An image from his childhood flashes into his mind. 

The three brief years he spent at Tanegashima have already faded in his mind, but there was still one moment that sticks to him, even if it’s a bit hazy. How the night sky looked in your eyes, how you and him had spun around under the cherry blossom tree.

What were the words he had said back then though? It had always eluded his mind.

He wonders if he could still recognize your face from all those years before.

Akaashi goes back inside his house.

[24 march 2013]

_Dear Akaashi-san,_

_How are you doing? Please don’t worry about your letters being late. I mean, look at me, writing this almost a year afterwards. How have things been this past year? I’m doing alright over here. The third years from our volleyball team have just graduated—_

“Iwaizumi-senpai!” You call out as you open the doors to the roof.

A tall, rugged-looking man with a set of thick eyebrows leaning against the railing turns to face you. “Oh, it’s (Last Name). What’s up?”

Your heart squirms as you walk over to the place where he’s standing, keeping a slight distance. “Just wanted to talk to you a bit before you all leave. Where’s Oikawa-senpai?”

“Shittykawa’s being mobbed by his fangirls down there,” he points to the extraordinarily large crowd of girls near the school entrance, all surrounding one man. “Decided that wasn’t worth my time, and came up here.”

“Wow, I feel almost a bit bad for him,” you say in awe. 

“Not gonna join them?”

“What? And ask me to die in that pack of vultures? No thank you!”

He chuckles. Your heart beats even faster, pounding against your ribcage.

“So, Iwaizumi-senpai… Um, what I wanted to say was…” you stutter, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. You're practically dying in flames of embarrassment, and you pray your face isn’t a shade of a bright red.

“Yeah?” He turns his gaze towards you, his dark eyes kind.

“Um… Congratulations on graduating! Can I have one of your buttons?”

Not entirely what you wanted to say, but close enough.

Iwaizumi has always been a little different for you. His gruff and harsh exterior peeled away revealed a nice and caring guy underneath, unless Oikawa was involved. He had never asked you much about Tanegashima and occasionally took you out to places around town whenever he had free time. 

And during the few volleyball games you did watch, you were always in awe at how powerful he was on the court, blasting through any wall.

His eyes were always looking straight ahead, running to some distant goal in the future.

From there, your crush naturally developed for the ace.

There’s just two tiny problems.

“Thanks! And of course, since I’ve still got a lot here—” his calloused hands pluck off the third button down, and hands it to you. “For my little sister.” He affectionately ruffles your hair.

“Thank you very much, Iwaizumi-senpai!” You bow deeply.

The first one: the man was a whole year older than you, You had always been referred to as “Mattsun’s Cousin” or “Little Sister” by the older members of the team. No way could they have ever been interested in you romantically.

You roll around the third button of Iwaizumi’s blazer in your hand, and a slight gust of wind blows by. Pink petals flutter near your face.

“Cherry blossom season is starting now, huh?” A petal floats onto his outstretched hand. “I wonder if they have this in America.”

The second: he’s going overseas for college.

“Can’t you always come back here for break?” you ask, desperately wanting to deny the inevitable.

“We’ll see. School year in America starts around September, so the break schedules might not align with Japan’s. Don’t worry though, I’ll try my best to come back and visit everybody.” He looks back down below, the crowd now starting to get violent. “I should probably be a good friend now. Catch you later, (Last Name)!” He waves goodbye to you, and heads back down the stairs.

Right there, you wished you could just hurry up and be a year older already, but you were unfortunately stuck with another year left of school to go through, your own graduation still a year away.

 _Being a high schooler sucks,_ you think sourly. _I want to be an adult already._

So, because of these two problems, your crush will always just be a crush.

Iwaizumi Hajime was always looking straight ahead.

Never at you.

_—but I know there’ll still be some strong players to hold up the team. I think I’ll miss them the most, which is kind of weird, considering I’m in the art club. Next year, at this time, it’ll be us graduating. Sometimes it feels like time has passed by too fast._

_Sincerely,_

_(Last Name) (Name)_

* * *

Fukurodani’s graduation party for the third-years had been a whir for Akaashi. 

He remembers a lot of rambling from Bokuto, Konoha telling him to pipe down, the coach getting angry at them for using the gym, but eventually giving in because he too was sad, then the managers providing food, did Nekoma make an appearance? He’s not too sure anymore.

He excused himself to sit on the big hill overlooking the gym for a breath of fresh air, mostly to pull together his thoughts.

They got second place this year at Nationals, something Akaashi honestly hadn’t expected his first year as a starter on the team. 

And now that he’s captain, he’s not entirely sure how to process everything. 

“Akaashi! Thought you’d be out here!” A booming voice calls out, disrupting his reverie. 

He looks down the hill, seeing Bokuto’s familiar figure walking up to him. “Mind if I take a seat here? Inside’s getting a bit stuffy.”

“Sure,” he replies. 

Bokuto’s surprisingly silent for once. He simply smiles as he looks out to the distance.

“Have you accepted any of your offers for the V. League?” Akaashi asks.

“I’m thinking about going to MSBY Black Jackals! Their mascot is pretty cool,” he grins. “Heard they’ve got some foreigners too!”

“Didn’t you suck in English?”

“Hey! Not as bad as my math!”

“That’s not saying much, you know.”

“Can’t you cut some slack? I’ve graduated now! Don’t have to worry about school subjects or hard words anymore!”

Akaashi smiles.

“I guess that’s true.”

A gust of wind blows by, scattering a couple of pink petals their way. 

“I heard the setter for Black Jackals might be Miya Atsumu,” Akaashi says. “He and his twin were really a powerful duo.”

“Oh, Tsumtsum? Yeah, I heard that too! He seems like a fun guy. But,” the former Fukurodani ace pauses for a bit, his hand reaching out for one of the petals that have flown by, “your sets will always be the best, Akaashi!”

[7 february 2014]

_Dear (Last Name)-san,_

_Thank you for your letter, and I know you've told me to not worry, but I must apologize again for writing back to you so late. I hope you have been well. Looking back at all the letters you’ve sent me, it truly does seem like time has flown by right under our noses. Living in Osaka and Tanegashima seem just like a distant memory now. I’m a bit ashamed to say this, but I’ve forgotten basically everybody from our elementary school now. Though I suppose that’s normal for people. Anyways, just recently, we won Nationals for volleyball. It all feels like a dream—_

Akaashi’s latest letter is in your hands. 

If you’re being dead honest, you honestly forgot how it got to this point.

You vaguely remember a friend you made in elementary school moving away to Tokyo and the two of you kept constant communication in the form of letters. Somehow, the two of you never gave each other your phone numbers.

In it’s own way, it held a certain charm, but it also caused you to forget sending him letters for an extended period of time. 

You’ve also all but forgotten what this Akaashi’s face looked like. 

From the deep recesses of your mind, you recall dark blue eyes and black hair, cut short, but you couldn’t remember anything else. 

And how did you even end up making friends with a future high school volleyball prodigy?

His accomplishments made him seem like a star, and you had been surrounded by quite a few of those during your high school years. His light however, outshone all of them, going so far as to winning Nationals, something your school’s volleyball team always fell short of to qualify for.

This Akaashi Keiji seemed so out of reach.

“Your friends are here, (Name)!” Your mother calls out. 

“Coming!” You rush down the stairs, leaving the letter on your desk.

[9 april 2014]

_Dear Akaashi-san,_

_Spring has come around again, it seems. The cherry blossoms outside my window are quite nice to look at. If you are to apologize for the lateness of your letters, then I will as well. I've been doing alright here, but you seem to be doing even better—congratulations on winning Nationals! That must’ve definitely been no easy feat. I’ve been in the art club for all my years here, just doing it for fun, so no amazing accomplishments here from me. Well, not like I’ve been that good, anyways. Did you know—_

You’re a mysterious entity to Akaashi. 

Reading the past letters, you’ve been involved in a wide variety of different things, ranging from surfboarding to art, even wanting to be an astronaut at one point. 

He’s only known volleyball ever since middle school, and a small part of him wonders what it would be like had he branched out and tried new things. 

At the same time, he’s glad he picked volleyball, because of the people he's been able to meet on the way. 

So he doesn’t regret his choices.

He wonders if you held any.

“Keiji! Are you ready?”

“One second, mother!” 

He leaves the letter on his desk.

[12 june 2016]

For university you end up applying to somewhere in Tokyo—you were honestly fine with wherever, as long as you could be in the city, as you had eventually outgrown Miyagi’s sleepiness. Hardly anybody asked about your island life, as most people were from all different parts of the country, and your Kagoshima accent is now much less pronounced.

You ended up keeping in touch with nobody in your grade during high school and once in a blue moon texted Matsukawa, who was off somewhere working at a funeral service company. You never did feel a strong bond towards anybody at Seijoh asides from the volleyball upperclassmen. Once they had left, your visits to the volleyball gym stopped altogether until you didn't even know who was a starter on the team.

Iwaizumi did end up coming back to visit, but you had left your feelings for the former ace on the rooftop that day, and when you entered university you never returned to Miyagi. You weren’t sad though - college offered new people to meet and you had made a small friend group after a year.

“Azumane, how’d you end up deciding wanting to become a fashion designer?” 

“I'm not too sure myself, but it was something I wanted to try and pursue as a change.”

“Didn’t you used to play volleyball back in high school? I remember you mentioning something about making Nationals?”

“Yeah, we did in my third year. I was only really good for volleyball at a high school level—some of our first years ended up making the pro league as soon as they graduated.”

“Wow, really? That’s cool! I did soccer back in high school, but we never managed to go anywhere, and now here I am in psychology…”

“I think I kinda get that. I still remember back in middle school when I really wanted to be a biologist, but I definitely didn’t have a brain for science, and boom, literature major.”

“Back when I was still in Kagoshima I really wanted to be an astronaut, though that would probably be impossible for me now.”

“Oh right, isn’t Japan’s biggest space center on that island?”

“Yeah. Actually got to see a rocket launch too, that was pretty cool.”

“Woah, really? I think I remember seeing that on TV, but I can’t remember well. Isn’t your island pretty known for surfing too?”

“Oh, really? (Last Name), did you surf?”

“I took some lessons from the older kids and could ride some waves, that was about it. Miyagi’s not exactly a surf paradise, so I never continued in high school. If you handed me a surfboard right now, I probably can’t even stand on it.”

“I used to ski a lot back in Hokkaido, but I haven’t touched a pair of skis ever since I moved here… some days I really want to go skiing again, but there’s never the time to do so.”

“Ah, that ramen place is having a sale today! You guys wanna go?”

All heads turn towards the loud voice.

“Way to break the mood, Inoue. Your head really is just filled with food, huh?”

“Hey, food is good, OK? Besides, I’ve always just wanted to do game design, so I can’t really relate to the whole switching around thing you guys do.”

“Must be nice to be so simple-minded. In the first place, why ramen? It’s summer, shouldn’t we be getting popsicles or something?”

“Konoha you bastard, was that part really necessary? Plus, college students always eat ramen! That’s an unspoken rule in the books!”

Your group ends up getting both ramen and popsicles.

[14 september 2017]

Akaashi is walking back to his apartment from Kodansha. The sidewalk is mostly empty, save for the occasional person walking around. He tends to avoid the main street, preferring to take the somewhat longer scenic route instead. 

The fiery hues of the sunset wash the sky in brilliant colors. Houses and shrubbery, their edges tinted gold in the light, line the street, along with small trees currently sporting foliage of brilliant red and orange. The occasional crunch of leaves underneath his sole echoes throughout the small neighborhood. 

He crosses the railroad intersection.

A woman walks by in the opposite direction.

He halts right after the striped bar lowers, signaling the arrival of a train. He hears it whoosh by, chugging along the tracks, and fades away in the distance.

_If I turned around, would she look too?_

They turn around at the same time.

“Um… do I know you from somewhere?” the woman asks.

A strange sense of nostalgia washes over him, like he’s known her for a very long time.

“…I don’t think so. Sorry, I just thought you looked familiar,” he responds.

The two turn back around and Akaashi continues his walk home.

_If only I remembered her name._

* * *

_Why do I think I know him?_

[24 march 2020]

_—the 28th of March is according to an old diary I found, the day we became friends. It’ll soon be the 7th year since then, do you want to meet up again at that time? We hung out at that tree back in Tanegashima, right? Let’s try to meet there! Though if you’re not able to, that’s fine too, don’t worry. Congratulations on graduating, and I wish the best for your future._

_Sincerely,_

_(Last Name) (Name)_

The last letter from you ends there. Akaashi folds it back up and places it back into the box his parents had shipped him just recently, saying they had found it in the corner of his room the other day. 

He leans back in his chair, the clock on his desk showing 20:23 in green fluorescent numbers. The editor spent the whole night reading the letters you had sent him, but he has long forgotten what your face had looked like. His parents had also included a picture of the two of you back in Tanegashima in the box, but he felt like a stranger looking at his childhood self next to you, standing in front of a giant cherry blossom tree. Was there something special about that tree? You mentioned it a couple of times in the letters. 

If circumstances had been different, if he hadn’t moved out to Tokyo after he graduated from elementary school, or if you had moved to Tokyo too, the two of you might’ve remained close, maybe even more. 

There’s still a lot of questions he has. What were you doing right now? Which of the two of you sent the last letter? Did you still remember, after all these years, or did you already long forget about him too?

But there’s no point in finding answers to these.

The phone on his desk rings.

“Hello Keiji, I won’t be coming home until late tonight, go ahead and eat dinner without me.”

“Alright. Take care, and don’t work yourself too hard.”

He looks outside the window, seeing the droplets of rain on the pane, the glittering lights of the skyscrapers, fallen stars of Tokyo underneath a dark sky.

After all, Akaashi’s a different person now. There’s no point in chasing a vague past, because he is deeply grateful for what he has right now. If his present was different, he would’ve flown out to Tanegashima to meet you, but he had neither the need nor the drive to do so. He had carved out a life for himself in this city, and although things weren't always bright, he wouldn't trade it for anything else.

_Maybe this is what it means to grow up, to stop chasing these sorts of fantasies._

Later that night, he dreams of back when he was thirteen on an island with a faceless girl, standing in front of a cherry blossom tree.

* * *

_—and I am glad to have been a part of this amazing team, it really fills me with pride. It’s funny though, I don’t think I’m going to do volleyball in the future. I think I’m going to try and get a job at a publishing company or maybe go to college. Good luck on your path in the future. I wish you all the best._

_Sincerely,_

_Akaashi Keiji_

“... _after a decade, the rocket launched from Tanegashima Space Center, Japan’s largest space developmental center, has finally reached the ends of our solar system…”_

You were doing a bit of spring cleaning in your apartment with the TV playing in the background when you found a small, dusty box filled to the brim with crumpled letters shoved in the back of your closet. Forgetting the cleaning, you ended up reading through every single letter. They were all from the same “Akaashi Keiji"—somebody you had apparently known back when you lived on the island. 

University passed by in a flash—you had soon graduated and ended up doing some part-time work, deciding to move out to Osaka to change up the scenery, but you’re not sure of where to go from here. You have a bachelor’s under your belt, but you really only attended university obliged to do so.

Akaashi Keiji, on the other hand, had actual ambitions. You flitted around from thing to thing because you had none. From what you read in the letters, he most likely got the job at a major publishing company and is currently living a stable life.

The letters. They may have gotten longer as time went on, but somewhere along the way, they had lost their meaning, turning into rows of empty words shared every year or so. In truth, the two of you had probably kept it up just for the sake of writing to somebody. Maybe in another timeline, things could've been different between the two of you.

You look at your TV, seeing a rocket on the screen, the same one you had seen its launch all those years ago, the day when you crushed your dreams of being an astronaut. How did it feel, to make its journey into the darkness of space, alone, with only the planets and stars as its guide? And what were the sights it was seeing currently?

What did it feel like to achieve dreams?

What did you want to see? 

You look back at the letters in your hands. A strange feeling wells up in your chest. It was all you could do to keep it from tearing you apart.

What really, had you been doing all these years?

All these questions, and you're not sure if you would—or ever would—find the answers to, because such questions never had answers to them that could be put into words.

A small piece of paper falls out from the letters and onto the floor. You pick it up, smoothing out the crinkles. 

“28 March 2015—meet Keiji by the cherry blossom tree!” is written on it in large, uneven handwriting that some part of you knew to be yours, from a time long ago.

And that's when your childhood on that island would forever exist as a fleeting memory, a petal of a cherry blossom falling down at five centimeters per second, stepped on and forgotten by the passage of time until it disintegrated into nothingness, leaving not even a trace behind.

Adulthood, you realized, was simply an inevitable heaviness.

Later that night, your dream whisks you back onto the island for one last time, standing in front of a large cherry blossom tree with a faceless boy.

_They say if a friendship lasts for 7 years, it’ll last forever._

_Perhaps ours already died before that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the rocket launch on tanegashima happens in february 2014 irl but b/c plot things i moved up the years. speaking of years, my math is super bad, so hopefully i didn't mess things up too much
> 
> this marks the end of the deviantart rewrites!


	7. blue rose paradise. (kuroo tetsurou)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were stunning, beautiful, magnificent. He could only watch as you walked past him, one step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> high school setting/brief mentions of time skip. reader is half-japanese/half-american and tall but it's not the main focus of the plot.

“This has to be a bad decision.”

“No, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No no, this is definitely a bad decision. Nobody makes good decisions at four in the morning. You won’t be able to follow through on this, I can guarantee that.”

“And how do you know that? Isn’t the secret to life having an open mind and all?”

And you’re too reckless, Kuroo thinks, but decides to not go down that rabbit hole tonight/this morning.

“I’m going to sleep,” he announces, already sinking back down onto his pillow. “You’re exhausting.” He means it half-jokingly, but his eyelids were already a heavy weight and required his best efforts to pry open.

“Wait, don’t you dare hang up—Roosterhead, I swear if you do I’ll hunt you down for sport tomorrow—”

“I’d like to see you try. I guess if you wear those fifteen centimeter heels you could reach me, but how are you gonna even walk?” he cuts in with a mocking tone.

“I’ll only need ten you dolt, and I’ll wear them when you see me in Paris and I step on your neck,” you shoot back without missing a beat.

“How are you gonna get there again? By ship? It’ll take you two months and you might die at sea. Think about the people you’d leave behind.” Like me. “The funeral wouldn’t even have the main star.”

“We’re wasting space with cemeteries anyways. Sea burials are the way to go!”

“Right, whatever. I’m sleeping now, for real this time. Good night.”

* * *

Considering how most of your ideas were like the pieces performed by a mediocre jazz band at a run-down bar—good only for background music and nothing else, completely forgotten come morning, Kuroo thinks this one would follow suit.

And it did. You never brought it up again the next day, as if the conversation was wiped out from your memory. Hard system reset. He sometimes wonders how you’ve managed to survive this long, but then again, maybe it was the unhinged that lasted the longest.

So life moved forward as it always does. He attended classes, went to volleyball practice, then headed home, sometimes with you, sometimes without. As life always does.

But, as life also always does, it throws unexpected things at everybody’s way. Two months later, something happened that caused the Nekoma third-year social atmosphere to be lit aflame.

“Hey, did you see—”

“That wasn’t her, right?”

“But it really looked like her—”

“She’s got legs for days, if that’s her.”

And he can’t take it anymore.

“Hey. What the hell did you do,” he marches to your classroom just as the bell rings. Volleyball practice is in ten minutes, but he garners it’ll be enough time to fish out an answer.

“What are you talking about?” you answer nonchalantly, not meeting his gaze as you put your notebooks away.

He runs his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “Everybody’s been talking about you, you can’t be that deaf.”

“Talking? They’ve always been talking. What, are you jealous now that Nekoma’s captain isn’t the center of conversation?” The sunlight from the window illuminates the edges of your silhouette, lighting you in an ethereal way.

He has to admit, maybe it wasn’t such a bad decision.

“You know what I mean, dumbass. That magazine. You can’t catch a break around here.”

“If you know what I did, then why are you asking me?” You tilt your head in a mocking way towards him, a smirk forming on your lips.

A rush of questions pop up in his brain—who what when where why how—but he says, “I’m kind of hurt you didn’t tell me first.”

Truthfully, Kuroo hasn’t seen it yet—mainly because you didn’t tell him about it. It was definitely not because he ignored Yaku’s flooding of messages when the libero first saw it. It was definitely not because he ignored Lev’s twenty-three calls a couple days later (and why, of all the people, the half-Russian asked about it, he doesn’t know why). It was definitely not because he feigned ignorance when it was brought up during practice, and then banned the conversation topic in the gym, citing it as a distraction.

No, it was because you didn’t tell him about it.

You stick your tongue out at him. “And who was the one that said it was a stupid idea?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that, I just said it was a bad decision—”

“Same damn thing, Kuroo,” and you say his name with the tip of a finely-sharpened spear, piercing the surface of his heart. “Either way, now that I’m becoming famous and successful, you come back to me. It’s like that old trope in movies.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself there.” He crosses his arms. “It’s still only your first job, right? Are you sure you can find another one?”

He only means it in a manner of jest, as usual, but—

“Of course I can,” you reply with a newfound seriousness that he’s never heard you use before. When you stand up, the sunlight hits your irises just right, setting them on fire, and his breath catches in his throat. “See you later then.”

Without another word, you exit the classroom.

* * *

The thing about Tokyo, is that it’s big.

This is an obvious fact, but sometimes people don’t realize exactly how big it is. A large, sprawling city, with a population estimate of almost fourteen million (not even counting the Greater Tokyo area) are living, breathing, walking amongst the neon skyscrapers mixed in with historical remnants, making it the most massive metropolis in the world.

And it’s because of its sheer size that Kuroo decided to stay in Tokyo after graduation. Things were always moving, either through the blurred faces and cars he passed by, to the flashing signs on the sides of buildings promoting their latest product. There was always something new to see without much effort to find it.

However, there was always one thing he could not avoid in this city of endless motion, no matter what path he took to work (and there were a lot he could take), one thing that always remained constant.

Plastered on a large building in a plaza in Shibuya is a poster that touched the sky. The brand of some luxury Italian label is the only word on it.

The rest of it, was you.

And he could not avoid your electrifying gaze every time he walked past the poster, a gaze that stared straight into the depths of his soul. On some days when he wanted to arrive to work as late as possible, he’d take a seat at the bench in the plaza right below the poster and just look at it. Maybe that was creepy to some, but again, because of how big the city is, nobody stopped to observe just a regular person on a bench.

A small part of him understood why you said Tokyo was too small for you that day. Of course it would be small for you, if you towered over everybody, draped in a lustrous outfit fit only for a Greek goddess, looking down on everybody that walked underneath you.

(he couldn’t forget.)

* * *

The first meeting with you could not have been any less shojo manga-like, one that even Yamamoto’s sister wouldn’t be caught dead with.

Although, you didn’t have the regular sliced bread in your mouth when you barreled into him. Maybe because it didn’t exactly follow the script, the ending changed.

Still, the events played out like this:

“Ow ow ow—oi, watch where you’re going!” Kuroo snapped as he slowly got up, brushing his pants.

“You should watch where you’re going too!” you had argued right back with the slight twang of an accent he doesn’t recognize. Because of your jacket, he can’t tell which school you went to, but he was shocked at how tall you were—though, you were still just a bit shorter than him.

“Oh, Christ,” you muttered in English. “I’m gonna be late. Sorry, Roosterhead. Uh, take care or something.”

Kuroo could only stare in bewilderment as you ran right past him, hair flying behind you. He thought that would be the end to the unusual morning, but he was proved wrong.

“Class, we have a new transfer student today. Would you please introduce yourself?” his homeroom teacher said kindly, turning to the person standing a good head taller than her.

“Hello everyone. My name’s (Last Name) (Name). I’m from America. Uh, pleased to meet you all.” You bow, and Kuroo’s mouth drops wide open. No fucking way is this possible, he thinks.

However, unlike a shojo manga plot again, the seats near him were all filled. You end up taking a seat near the back in the opposite corner, next to the door.

Though, that doesn’t stop him from approaching you during lunch.

“Hey. Looks like we’re in the same class,” he says as he takes the seat right in front of you while you’re eating a sandwich (how American to do so, he thinks).

“Oh.” You stop mid-bite, and your face scrunches up into a weird expression. “It’s Roosterhead.”

“I have a name, y’know? Kuroo Tetsurou. Pleased to meet you.”

There was a fleeting second where you simply stared at him.

But it was a stare that flipped him inside out, one that revealed every vein and capillary running through his body, forcing all of his secrets out in the open, and it’s all he can do to stabilize himself against your gaze.

“(Last Name) (Name),” you finally say after the second is over, and your gaze relaxes. His grip on the chair relaxes, and his teeth unclench. “You can call me (Name)—wait, I guess it doesn’t work like that here. Well, whatever works for you.” You tap your finger on your chin. “Can I still call you Roosterhead? I’ve taken a liking to it.”

Kuroo knew he was a pretty sociable person for his age, but you were on another level with how little you seemed to care about social customs.

Right then and there, a voice inside him says that he has to follow you throughout the next two years of high school. He’s not sure why it does, but he won’t fight against it. It was like seeing a small light at the end of a dark tunnel—what he’ll see on the other side is unknown, but he’ll do anything to find out.

Kuroo grins.

“Call me whatever you want then.”

* * *

University is the road to success was drilled into everybody’s heads as soon as they stepped foot into high school. Get a degree and you get a life.

And for the third-years, they were especially focused on. The social atmosphere now whispered about the upcoming exams, creating study groups, and prayers to whatever gods that were listening, if they were at all. Kuroo was the only third-year in the volleyball club considering college—Kai was applying for gardening internships in Saitama, Yaku was going pro—so Kuroo often joined in on his classmates’ discussions. Ando was thinking of somewhere overseas, Fujimori was considering Chuo, while Sato was taking the bullet and gunning for Todai.

“You’re seriously not considering Ridai?” Tsuda, who’s aiming for Waseda, asks him during lunch (Kai and Yaku were sitting in their classrooms, probably). “Aren’t you a really big science nerd?”

“I just like learning about science, not studying it,” Kuroo answers, taking a large bite from his egg roll.

“Exactly what’s the difference?” Fujimori interjects, brushing back the hair in his eyes.

“One you can do as enjoyment, the other you get judged for. Besides, I’m trying to get money quickly here.”

“All the more reason to apply to Todai,” Sato declares, pushing up his glasses. Kuroo had never liked him that much—he mostly leeched off Sato’s homework whenever he could. “With your grades, if you put in the effort, I’m sure you can manage somehow. After all, that’s really all—”

“Thank you for your benevolent words, I am honored to receive them,” Kuroo cuts in with a monotonous drawl. “But I’ve got other things on my plate.” Mainly, Nationals.

Before Sato could reply, Ando pipes up. “Speaking of which, did you all know (Last Name)-san has been out of class for a week? Yukie-san said she wasn’t even home—Kuroo, you’re close with her, aren’t you? Do you know anything about it?”

He knew this too, and whenever he tried getting in contact with you, your phone was always turned off. The words “Hi, I’m either working right now or in hell. Call me back!” became a familiar sound to his ears, so much that it was like an annoying advertisement jingle stuck in his mind.

“No,” he replies curtly. “Got no clue.”

Some days later, you finally appear in class again, acting as if nothing had happened as always, except for the fact that your hairstyle had changed subtly.

“So, what happened,” Kuroo asks as the two of you are walking home. Practice was off for the day, so he barged into your classroom as soon as the bell rang and offered to walk with you.

“Why should I tell you?” you reply testily. “You’re just gonna call it a ‘bad decision’ again.”

Because I’m worried about you, dumbass. “I’ll promise to keep my thoughts contained this time.”

“Well,” you begin, and there’s a hint of excitement in your voice that he’s never heard before. “I’m going to walk for Bunka’s fashion show.”

The one school he hadn’t heard circulating in Nekoma, of course, would come from you.

“Bunka? Isn’t that the top fashion school in Japan? How’d you even do that?”

“One of the designers chose me as a model when they saw my photo in the magazine. Said they could help me get more connections too,” you answer with a sing-songy tone. “It’s all part of the business.” Business said like bizness, the English way, rather than bijiness, what Japanese natives said.

“This sounds pretty shady,” is the only thing he can come up with.

“Didn’t you say you’d keep your thoughts to yourself? They’re all a bunch of good people. One’s got a safety pin piercing in his lip and eyebrow, that was kind of shocking. Plus, they don’t go talking about exams and college and whatever people at our school talk about.” You pause at a vending machine in front of a convenience store to buy a drink. “Want anything?”

“I’m good,” he waves his hand. There’s a brief lapse in the conversation as he hears the beep of the machine, then the whirring sound as a canned drink rolls down.

“So, you’re really gonna model once you graduate?”

And when the words come out of his mouth, he’s surprised at hearing them out loud. The word “model” was like saying one of the periodic table elements in English—something he could never get used to, even if he knew exactly how to pronounce it in his head.

“Yep,” you reply as the metal tab of your can pops open. Suddenly you’re walking in front of him with long strides and Kuroo hurries to catch up.

“Not even a backup plan?”

“When’d you become so boring?” There’s not much threat in your words, but it still left a sting. You throw your head back and take a long sip of the drink.

“Maybe it’s because we’re being adults and all. Y’know, gotta think about what to do next.”

“Do you?” You suddenly stop, turning to look at him. Whoever did your new hairstyle really knew your facial structure well.

“Well, yeah. Go to college, probably Jundai. Get a job at the JVA.” Be with you, or at least near you. “Simple as that. What about you, then, if you think I’m so boring?”

You continue walking, and he’s now noticing the bomber jacket you’re wearing, something he’s never seen on you before. “I want to do a lot of things. And I think being a model is the best way to do that.”

“Being a model is the best way to do that,” he echoes. “And exactly what you want to do?”

“I don’t know yet.”

He lets out a sigh. “And modeling is, again, the best way? To do a lot of things you don’t know?”

“Modeling is the best way,” you agree, taking another sip of your drink. Maybe I should’ve gotten something back there, he thinks, as a sudden dry spell cloaks his throat. “Well, I guess I want to travel around the world. Meet lots of people who are passionate about their work. Wearing a bunch of fashionable clothes and getting done in pretty makeup is a nice addition. This city’s too damn small, sometimes.”

It honestly sounded like a farfetched, childish dream. Was that the motivation for models? Then again, he’s not even sure of his own motivations. He just wanted to spread volleyball to the world, and to some, that was grounds to be scoffed at.

“We’re in the largest city in the world and you still think it’s too small?” Kuroo snickers. “You’ve gotta be kidding me, I know you didn’t completely fail in your classes. New York and Los Angeles aren’t even this big.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you mutter in English. Even after three years of living in Japan, you still had the habit of switching to your mother tongue. “You know, it’s like you’re seeing the same old suburbs and sights every day. Gets boring after a while. I know there’s a lot to do and all, but don’t you just get the feeling that you wanna something new sometimes?”

“Not particularly. You just haven’t been in Tokyo long enough, there’s a lot of things to do around here.”

“Hmm. I guess.” You don’t sound very convinced. “Speaking of the fashion show though, the dress I’m walking in is the final one!” There’s a light skip in your steps. “It’s completely blue and has a lot of embroidery on it! You should come and see, it’s in two weeks. As the designer says, ‘I’ll take you to paradise.’” You snap your fingers at him.

It sounded utterly preposterous, and he couldn’t help but let out a loud bark of laughter.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. I’m betting one hundred yen you’re falling on the runway.”

“You’re on, Roosterhead.”

* * *

If he was dead honest, becoming friends with you also felt like some bad shojo manga, like the manga artist had written the plot at four in the morning in a stream of consciousness with characters not entirely fleshed out. The whole development was an instant click, the swelling of a wave out in the sea—one blink, and the wave had already risen to an impossibly high level.

“So what’s America like?” he asked you. For some reason, you only called him during the early hours of the day/late hours of the night (thankfully over the weekends). Side-effects of jet lag, you argued. You need to sleep, he retorted right back.

“What kind of question is that? The American experience isn’t the same for everyone, you know.”

“You know what I mean. Your city. What life was like,” he spells out the words patiently, as if one would to an elementary schooler.

“Hmm. People were a lot more open, I guess. Calling people on the street ‘assholes’ is a normal experience. ‘Least, that’s what it was like in New York. Sarcasm and dry humor don’t really fall well here.”

He could already imagine your scrunched-up expression, brows furrowing in thought, mouth a thin line straight across. Whereas most people at his school preferred to keep a neutral expression (Kenma and Kai are the first to come to mind), you had an endless number of them, Greek theater masks kept away in a storage room, to be pulled out with the simple press of a button.

Maybe it was because of that, he never saw you around with other people. If people fell into categories of either loved or shunned, it was quite obvious which one you were. But whether you noticed (or even cared), that was something you never showed on your face as you walked forward with your head held high.

And he grew to like that side of you.

“I wasn’t expecting you to actually give me a straight answer.”

“Hey, you were the one that asked!”

It was during these hours that you sprouted weird, off-kilter ideas about what you’d do in the future, ranging from being a crab fisher in Hokkaido to a mediocre restaurant food blogger (it would fill a niche in the market, you argued. He thought you’d die at the pitiful age of sixty-three with nothing to your name). Kuroo took these as roundabout ways to pass the time. Some nights were just plain debates until one fell asleep. Some nights you talked his ear off on random tangents.

There were some things that he learned were off-limits, despite how much you shared about yourself.

“So why’d you move here?”

“Family issues,” you reply a bit too breezily.

He doesn’t push any further.

One such night, some years later, you had revealed your latest plan.

“I’m gonna be a model,” you announced with your usual casual certainty on these matters.

He blinks. Outside his window, a crescent moon hangs in the sky, illuminating the roof of the house across the street. “What now,” is the response.

“I said, I’m gonna be a model. I’ve got this one cousin who works in fashion design, and she said she wanted me to model for some of her clothes when we met up a couple days ago. Being over 1.8 meters really helps out in this industry.”

Kuroo doesn’t think it’s just your height that helped. “So how does that equate to being a model?”

“If things go well, I’ll get signed to an agency. She knows somebody who opened up a new one, they’re currently hiring young models.”

All of the words you said, he understood. But that didn’t mean he could string together the words to form a coherent sentence. Some small part was missing for all the pieces to connect, a small part he could spend a lifetime finding but never would, like a rare bug in the middle of the Sahara.

“What about your mother?”

He hears a chuckle a tad too dry. “That won’t be a problem.”

A brief thought—you might actually do this—floats into his mind.

Which is why he decides to say, “This has to be a bad decision.”

And the great wave begins its crash.

* * *

You had once told Kuroo you were afraid of airplanes.

It wasn’t the act of flying in the sky that scared you, you were fine with that.

But the physical object of the plane itself, the main body and its two wings, with a tail attached behind, you tried to shy away from.

A plane took your father away from you when you were five, never to return again. And then a plane took you and your mother away from your home when you were fifteen.

Logically, you knew it was stupid—but this fear was something that defied logic, couldn’t be rationaled with. Everybody had one of those, yours just came in the form of airplanes.

“Be brave,” your mother had said. “Don’t let people see your weak side.”

“What if I can’t?” you had asked, chubby fingers clinging to her hand at the airport. The plane taking your father—though your mother told you to forget about him—had just departed.

“Then pretend so hard that you actually believe it yourself.”

You glanced at her face, seeing the corners of her eyes glisten brighter than normal.

And that’s how your mother raised you for the years to come, first in a small apartment in New York, then in another small apartment in Tokyo.

“I’m home,” you announce as you close the front door behind you and take off your shoes. The lights, not to your surprise, are already on. Your mother is working away on her laptop at the living room table, like normal.

“Welcome back,” she calls out, not even sparing a glance your way. “Dinner’s in the kitchen.” She takes a sip from a glass of water.

“I’ve eaten already.” You walk into the living room, setting your backpack down next to the worn-down couch. She doesn’t respond.

You try again, leaning against the table. “Hey, Mother.”

“Mm.” She continues her typing.

“I’m—” you swallow down a large lump forming in your throat “—going to be a model.” The last word you said with such a meek tone, you wanted to slap yourself for doing so.

“What about college?” A monotonous drone. Even more typing.

You do your best to shove down the creeping trepidation rising in your throat. “I’m not going. Not now, at least.”

“Why.” It’s stated more as a command than a question.

The clock hanging on the wall is your focal point. Tick, tock. “Won’t need to, if this goes well.”

You knew you were going on a road hardly walked, when there was already a smooth and paved one to take. But if there was one thing that stuck to your brain all throughout your years of growing up, it was that you absolutely couldn’t stand attending school.

The sameness of waking up at eight and going home before five, the repetition of seeing the same faces every day—at some point, you couldn’t take it anymore. How could everybody around you act like it was alright? They all complained about schoolwork, but in the end, they still did it. You considered it a success if you turned in your math homework a week after the deadline. They’d diligently go to cram school afterwards and study for university exams. You skipped school for work (or finding work).

They were all taking flight to face adulthood head on. You only had height, figure, and face as your wings. Not many people could get such a combination of genes—ACGT, as Kuroo said.

So was it wrong for you to use them?

“You seem to be pretty confident,” your mother finally says, and the typing’s stopped. The only sound now is the ticking of the clock. Tick, tock. “I hope you’re aware that throwing all your eggs into the basket isn’t the wisest of choices.”

“Yeah, I know.”

What started as just a photoshoot for your cousin was now on the verge of becoming much more. Scared, anxious, excitement—all of these emotions stirred inside you, a melting pot with a curious combination of ingredients, forming something greater than you can imagine.

Your mother returns to typing, a wordless finale for the conversation.

“Just graduate from high school,” is tacked on at the end, a breath of wind so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

And you’re not sure why your mother said this. Her love for you was not a picturesque one out of a storybook; some days you’re not even sure if she did love you. It was too late to change this relationship of eighteen years’ worth, the two of you knew this without needing to say a word.

Still, maybe she just wanted to try, one last time.

And for her, maybe you would too.

“Alright. Good night.”

The glass balcony door outside reveals the Tokyo night. A blinking red light traverses across the dark plain with a destination to somewhere far away.

You’re not sure how long your wings would last, or whether they could even hold up once you started flying. It would be a long, windy road ahead of you, one filled with many obstacles and blocks. But if they were the only pair you had, then hell, you were going to use up each and every feather for as long as you could.

It was time for you to take flight.

* * *

Being a sports promoter meant Kuroo was on social media a lot. He could browse through whatever app he wanted when work got just a bit too droll for him.

Such was the case for today—he had just wrapped up a report and found himself with nothing to do for a good hour or so at the office. Kuroo pulls out his phone and starts mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, chuckling at a couple of dog videos that appear, liking some of the recent photos from Bokuto, and commenting an egregious amount of emojis on Tsukishima’s posts.

Then suddenly, a photo of you in a large and luxuriously patterned dress appears on his feed. You’re standing on a rock with a blue ocean behind you, the waves just barely reaching the hem of your dress. Even further out are swirls of clouds floating by lazily on a sunny day. Upon closer look, he notices a crown on top of your head, glinting in the sun.

The caption reads: “In commemoration of Marine Day, we deliver an image of the October 2018 issue of ‘Vogue Japan’, taken on the Capri Island on the southern tip of Italy. Enjoy the great summer mood with a breathtaking view of the mysterious emerald blue.”

He likes the photo and scrolls past with a small smile on his face.

* * *

Two weeks later, Kuroo finds himself on the campus of Bunka Fashion College with Lev by his side on a chilly autumn afternoon.

“Remind me again why you’re coming?”

“I want to support (Last Name)-senpai! She gave me this ticket after I told her being a model sounds super cool!” The half-Russian beams at him, holding up the exact same slip of paper in Kuroo’s pocket.

“Shouldn’t you be taking this day to work on your receives or something?” Kuroo asks, dragging his feet forward.

“Er—I’ll do that afterwards!”

The building was astonishingly plain for holding some of the brightest minds in the fashion industry. What did meet his expectations were what the students wore: flashy prints, flowy fabrics, intricate accessories, and attention-grabbing hair colors were donned by many flocking around the entrance. Kuroo had opted for a flannel, a scarf, and some jeans, while Lev went for a beige trench coat, a gray cable knit sweater, and dark slacks. Thankfully they didn’t stand out—many in the crowd were also dressed as simply.

They entered the building, showed their tickets and got ushered to where the runway was. Their seats were in the third row on the right side, slightly far from the catwalk, but with their heights, it wasn’t a problem.

A while later, the lights dim down and only spotlights are shined on the runway. An announcer opens the show, and an electric beat blares from the speakers. The first model steps out onto the runway, wearing an all-black ensemble. As only a list of the designers was provided for the program, he’s not sure when you came out.

Kuroo could objectively appreciate every outfit presented (though some he’s not sure could even be considered fashion, and he certainly wouldn’t be caught wearing any of them), Every model passed by in a blur, one after another walking the same straight line, stopping for a brief moment, then turning back. Lev looked amazed at each and every single person walking out, clearly much more immersed.

Some time later, the music switches up and starts playing a quiet [chamber piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3KP7e88Gba0). The models coming out are all wearing some sort of flower decal on their outfits, whether it be a printed flower fabric, ruffles made in the shape of flowers, or a flower-shaped dress. An explosion of petals and colors grace the catwalk, bringing an early spring to the audience.

And then, a woman wearing a brilliant sea-green gown with embroidered flowers running down the bodice steps out. The off-shoulder neckline and puffy sleeves, made from a translucent fabric, accented her collarbones, where a jeweled necklace lays. Her arms are covered with a pair of lacy gloves with a large ring shaped in a butterfly on one finger. Long strands of braided hair attached with blue roses flutter at her side. At the hem of the dress peeks out layers of exquisite lace and the points of blue shoes.

It was immediate.

“Senpai… is that…”

Kuroo’s mouth could only drop open in shock at the sight. You were stunning, marvelous, breathtaking. He could only watch as you walked past him, one step at a time.

And your eyes are trained forward to a place Kuroo would never be able to see, with the exact same gaze you used so long ago, when he first met you; the one devoid of all emotions, emanating raw, unfiltered intensity, and now everyone could feel its effect.

In that moment, you whisked everybody to a paradise of blue roses. In that moment, you bloomed so beautifully, he’s not sure if you were human or god. There was beauty that everybody talked about as a passing trend, and then there was beauty that transcended those trends, that had a power to silence, both a beauty that reached to the edges of the universe and a beauty that could be pared down to a singular essence.

And in that moment, Kuroo realized he could never have you.

* * *

The small light at the end of the tunnel, he learns, was just an airport.

“So, this is it.”

“This is it,” you repeated.

The two of you are at the gate where your flight is. A decently-sized crowd of people is already present, either standing around or sitting down. You’re wearing a simple outfit but one that still exuded classiness. It’s to make a grand appearance when I land in France, you said. He couldn’t argue back since it did look pretty nice.

You ascended like a streaking rocket in the world of modeling and soon found yourself with a gig in the epicenter of haute couture just a year after your editorial debut. When you told him the news, you had already booked a flight to France.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” he asks gently.

“Of course. I’m not gonna be stopped by some flying machine anymore,” you respond, rocking back-and-forth on the balls of your feet. If you were nervous, you hid it well.

This is really it, he thinks. And there’s so many words he wants to say to you, but he doesn’t know how to say them.

“We are now boarding all passengers in class two… I repeat, we are now boarding all passengers in class one… please have your ticket ready at the checkpoint…”

“What are you looking all sad for?” you ask.

“What? Did I look sad? I’m gonna be really glad you’re gone now, you know. You won’t mess up my sleeping schedule anymore.” Words flow from his mouth like whitewater rapids, but they were all the wrong words, the words that sounded lame and dumb. He wishes he could’ve said something smarter, nicer, better—

“If you say so. C’mon, give me a hug before I leave or something,” you laugh and pull him into an embrace.

In the brief moments the two of you touched, he hopes you received his feelings—how much of a pain you were to him, how important you had been to him, how much he cared for you—

How much I can’t be without you.

“We are now boarding all passengers in class three… I repeat, we are now boarding all passengers in class three… please have your ticket ready at the checkpoint…”

You’re the first to release from the hug, and are about to walk away—

“Wait!” he calls out, grabbing your hand. It was a cold sensation against his warm palm that jolts him. Even his last meeting of you took an element from a shojo manga plotline.

Please don’t leave.

“Have a safe trip,” he says.

And it didn’t matter if there were differences in the script; the ending would always be the same no matter what happened. Life never tied endings in pretty packages, life would always move on.

With a gaze that pierced the very center of his soul, you smile, a bit more forlorn than usual.

“Thanks. Goodbye then.”

All too quickly, your fingers release from his, the touch lingering on the tips of his fingers.

You walk to the line, suitcase rolling behind you, and never look back.

* * *

It’s a couple months later when the poster in Shibuya finally changes, now featuring Lev and his sister modeling for a perfume brand. It was a nice, humorous change of pace seeing the former Nekoma player plastered on the screen, but he knows he wouldn’t be stopping to look at it anymore.

He’s not sad. Kuroo would continue to see you in momentary flashes of his life, each a petal of a blue rose from the paradise you once showed him—small but rare moments, scattered throughout his day.

It was better like this, really.

Directly in front of him is a small plaza, with trees lining the edges. Flocks of salarymen cross from one side to another, their dress shoes making dull clicks on the pavement. Students wearing backpacks and uniforms walk in groups, laughing and chattering about whatever they were interested in. A couple of families are present, their kids playing in the small strips of grass. Somewhere in the distance, a [pop song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8htgzXfS654) is playing from a speaker. Mixed in with the smoke-filled air are scents of ramen, coffee, and some unknowns. A bus makes a stop at the left side of the plaza, its doors opening with a hiss. Up ahead, the sun shines down, its rays of light obscured by gray clouds.

And now, he truly understood that everything was the same as always.

He gets up from the bench and continues his walk to work, disappearing into the sea of people.

And finally, the great wave crashes, sending ripples of seafoam to the sandy shores, never to form again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //i seem to have a thing for nonlinear unrequited love fics for kuroo. oops.
> 
> hi, me again, bring this collection back from the dead with the new one-shots i've written. not sure how many will be in store, they'll be coming along as inspiration strikes. hope you enjoyed!


	8. never here again (oikawa tooru)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The greatest sin of them all is to fall in love with a god, they said.
> 
> And you did exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in mythological greece

Over the years, you’ve realized the only plausible way of summing up your life is to use the word _preordained._

The sole daughter to peasants in a village near the sea, you lived your life in relative peace. Each day passed like the next in the same manner. You spent your childhood amongst the crops and the cattle, playing games with the other children, listening to the stories of the gods and heroes from the village elders. There was no running away from this type of life, as there was nowhere to run to.

And all too soon, you found yourself with a grown woman’s body and talks of marriage surfaced amongst your parents. They had feared their prayers wouldn’t be answered as each year passed by and more girls in the village got married off, until you were the only one left. And for a while, you entertained the idea of living forever in solitude. It didn’t seem like such a horrible prospect.

But this idea was soon dissipated by a betrothal to some prince in a far-off land who your parents promised could give you a better life. The Fates’ tapestry would not make you a hero nor a savior; just another pawn to fulfil the role of whatever grand scheme there was in the universe.

 _You will love him, as we love each other,_ your parents said. _It will be the happiest years of your life._ They looked as if a great burden was lifted off their shoulders; their role to raise you was now over.

And you?

You don’t even know how or why the prince picked you. You were to see his face for the first time on the wedding day, a time that was soon closing in. He had sent a brief letter of introduction that contained nothing of note, nothing that revealed the character and disposition he possessed between the blunt and straight lines.

“How am I to marry someone I haven’t met yet? For all I know, this prince could be forty years old and simply desire me for an heir,” you sighed to the sea. 

The sea of course, said nothing back to you. Its blue waves, smooth as glass, glinted in the sunlight. Your bare feet and hands sift through the white sands and a gentle breeze passes through your hair. The sun is shining down on you like always, but its warmth is something you could no longer take comfort in.

“How am I to be happy, when I have been the happiest here? If I could live forever in our village, I would be pleased. And maybe this is me shying away from whatever duty the gods have put out to me, but even then, I don’t believe the gods would be so unjust to do so,” you continue. The white sea foam of the incoming tides barely tickle your feet, then recede, leaving behind colorful pieces of shells.

“Perhaps that is just wishful thinking on my part, but you, the blank and calm sea, has always been a good listener. Though sometimes, you are a bit silent,” you chuckle lightly.

These blue waves had become your only solace over these years. You released your worries of the day into its waters which carried them to the horizon and beyond. 

“There is no law that says the gods must be fair,” an unknown voice cuts in. Your shoulders immediately raise in fear and your eyes dart across your surroundings, only seeing the stretch of sand. Behind you, the brick and clay homes all in their same positions and orders. Nothing was amiss, so who—

“For someone like you who seems to have a brain in your head, you sure don’t use it a lot,” the voice again speaks, taking on a lighthearted tone like the gentle waves lapping at your feet. A breeze once again flies by but it’s stronger, more substantial than the last.

Your head slowly turns back to face the ocean, and out of nowhere, standing in front of you is a tall, sculpted man with a head of wavy brown locks. Eyes of the same hue but carry a golden warmth you have never seen before stare directly at you. His lips are curved into a perfect smile, one that makes your heart stop for just a moment.

“Who are—” your voice comes out huskily and you clear your throat. “Who are you?”

“God of the sea and ruler of the water, Poseidon,” he replies, with a strange casualness that underscored the power of the name he uttered.

“Lord Poseidon,” you squeak out, shoulders hunched in fear. “I am, truly and deeply, honored to be in your presence—”

“Oh please,” he brushes away your half-baked introduction with a gentle laugh. “Spare me the formalities, my sweet maiden.”

“But I don’t, I don’t understand—what, how—” Your hands unconsciously reach out to grab something to stabilize yourself, but they’re only met with sand. The words on your tongue could not form either, and you’re not entirely sure what you asked him. 

“What are you doing here, brooding at the sea, when your wedding day draws ever near?” he asks, completely ignoring the wisps of your question. Poseidon is now so close to you that you can smell the heavy scent of seawater mixed with traces of honey on his breath.

“It is still a date far away,” you reply with a hushed tone, not wanting to draw attention to it.

“If you say so.” He stands upright again. “Well, are you going to sit there all day and stare at me in awe? I know I’m a fine, wondrous being to behold, but if I wanted to talk to silence, I would’ve just gone to the Underworld instead,” Poseidon says, regaining the sing-songy tone of his.

“Uh—” you stand up hastily, the effect making you wobble.“Then, er, is there anything you wanted to talk about? Um, I can take you to the village if you want?” you ask, brushing away the grains of sand in your tunic.

He studies you up-and-down curiously with unreadable eyes, an expression so serene yet so chilling it sends goosebumps down your arms, despite it being the midst of summer. Your whole body tenses up unconsciously, both in fear and in reverence for the god in front of you.

“You know, you mortals sure like to pick and choose what things to rush and take slow,” he finally says, his eyes relaxing. “What’s the big hurry? We’ve got all the time in the world.” Poseidon spreads his arms out wide and twirls onto the sands, his feet practically lifting him into the air. The sight reminded you of the young children in the village dancing.

“Lord Poseidon, I’m afraid I already know quite a lot about you and you about me, with how often I come to these shores and spill out my feelings to you,” you reply cheekily. The god stops in his tracks, and turns to face you with a large grin spreading across his face.

“There’s the sweet little maiden I know! I’m not a fan of mortals who take any opportunity to curse at us gods behind our backs, but then once we appear in front of them, their personality completely changes!” He scrunches up his face in indignance, crossing his arms. “And they have the nerve to act like they don’t know!”

A wry smile forms on your lips.

For being such a powerful god, you didn’t realize how _human_ they acted. 

“Then may I ask as to why you are here then, Lord Poseidon? Surely you have some pressing matters to attend to?”

“Hmm. Good question!” His eyes train on your face once again and your breath catches in your throat at the sudden change in the air.

“I’m here to tell you the sea is anything but silent. The sea has many different sides, my dear sweet maiden, and I will show you all of them.”

* * *

The god Poseidon ended up following with your suggestion as the two of you walked out of the sandy beaches.

“But what am I to call you?” you ask as the two of you are currently walking through an olive grove. The fruit had only just begun to sprout but he picks one off the branch anyways, and in an instant, the green color morphs into a dark hue.

“Is there something wrong with Poseidon? I am much more loved compared to my other brothers,” he replies, popping the olive into his mouth. “Especially Zeus—” he grimaces at the name, and you pray that the Father of All Gods did not hear his words.

“Our village does revere you, but I fear it may draw unwanted attention towards you if you had wished to explore.”

He chews thoughtfully for a bit before he answers. “Call me Tooru then.”

“Understood. Lord Tooru it is.”

And something tells you your life was suddenly about to not be so preordained anymore.

* * *

The first side of the sea he shows you, surprisingly, is the playful one. Instead of the dignified and grandeur you’d expect of one of the worldly rulers, he showed a mischievous and daring face, one that drew all eyes towards him.

For who wouldn’t be drawn to the epitome of perfection? As the two of you walked through the village, you felt the whole world’s eyes burning your skin, setting fire to your clothes, asking you _who is he_ and _why are you with him._ Whether the god was aware of this, you’re not sure. His faceted face, shining as lustrous as the finest gem, only held a smile.

“Hey! You’re cheating, Tooru!”

“You can’t prove a thing!”

“Yes I can!” A child with a mop of blond hair on his head sticks his tongue out at the god. “You definitely did something to the ball! Balls don’t move like that!”

“You’re just jealous because I’m stronger than you! How does it feel to be as weak as you are?” 

“We’re the same size and height! You’re not stronger at all!”

You could only sigh in exasperation at the spectacle laid out before you: Tooru had transformed into a lanky and short adolescent upon seeing the village children playing a ball game in the plaza and immediately joined in, blending splendidly well with the group. On the plus side, you could hide from the gazes of the older people milling around.

On the negative, he had a serious competitive streak. 

“Lord Tooru,” you call out to him (you had introduced him as a neighboring prince, which the children believed with how ethereal he looked, thankfully), sitting on a stone bench. “Play nice.”

Of all things, you were _not_ expecting to play the surrogate mother role to a god today.

“You’re no fun!” Tooru copies the sticking-out-tongue move at you.

This playful side of the sea you ended up seeing the most when he came ashore, and the hours he stayed only grew longer as time went on, until sometimes he left just when Eos was about to draw her chariot across the sky. He brought the inviting scent of sea salt with him and left the taste of wild honey to linger when he left.

Every day you’d take him somewhere new (while you wanted to take him somewhere where his realm did not reach, water was just a bit too abundant around the village). You took him to the tops of hills, the large pasture just beyond the village, and sometimes the ancient grove, where the dryads and centaurs made their habitats. They had more keen eyes than the humans in the village; they knew at first glance who Lord Tooru was. Some peeked their heads out from the trees, silently observing the two of you in hushed awe.

“Do you not wish to see your temple?” you ask, as the two of you rest at a bubbling stream. Your toes are dipped in its clear waters, providing a refreshing coolness to your aching feet.

You were still unsure of how to act around the god—as powerful as they were, you were not a stranger to the stories of their vanity and pride. Besides, what god would be interested in the mumblings of a mere human?

“My temple? That’s all filled with old men and bo~ring priests! I like the company of young maidens much better,” he replies. A small fish slips through the rocks at the bottom.

“What of your wife? She must object,” you protest, looking at his profile view. How beautifully carved it is—sculptures could never capture the vibrant quality it held.

“Let’s not talk about my life in that palace,” Tooru hums, brushing away your concern casually. “There isn’t of much interest to hear. Besides, I’m more intrigued by your stories. You must have more words to share than the ones on the beach?”

His brown eyes flecked with gold look at you warmly.

Just like that, the knot in your tongue loosens, bursting forth a flood of words.

You spill the stories of your quiet, preordained life: the quiet that your mother hummed from her mouth when her dexterous fingers worked the loom, the quiet of your father’s lute when he played it after a long day’s work, the quiet of the chirping birds that greeted you the next morning. Chunks of treasured quiet scattered like pollen in the breeze, spreading their seeds to all corners of the village.

Tooru held onto each and every one of your words as if it was ambrosia, drinking up every single drop. _What kind of life must he be living,_ you wondered, _for him to be so interested in a plainly normal life?_

Unless the sea god had some emergency business to attend to, he always left by the beach he came from. Tonight is one such night; the two of you are sitting on the sands, the moon hanging low in the sky, millions of stars splashed across the dark expanse.

“Lord Tooru,” you begin. “Why are you playing with my hair?”

“I like how it feels, is that not a good enough reason?” he chuckles, delicately taking a new strand of your hair in his fingers. His face is close enough that the scent of sea salt is present on your cheek.

Because the playful side of the sea also was the one of the waves tickling the soles of your feet, ever inching closer but receding at just the last moment before you were completely submerged. A perpetual push-and-pull, one that threw your heart into a cycle of highs and lows.

Before you can say anything in return, he abruptly stands up and walks forward, tunic rippling in the breeze. 

“Wait, you’re going already?”

And you hadn’t meant to call out these words, but they slipped out of your throat before you could even register them. Your hand flies to your mouth in embarrassment.

He turns his head to look at you and smirks. “Miss me that much?”

“Er—no,” you quickly reply, breaking the gaze and hoping that the night sky was a good enough cover to hide the red spreading on your cheeks. “I want you gone. You’re a nuisance,” you sputter.

Tooru is doubled over with laughter, a sound like chimes. “Is that what my dear sweet maiden thinks of me?”

“Then stop calling me whatever that hideous nickname is! I do have a name! It’s (Name)!” you shoot back.

“Then stop calling me ‘Lord Tooru’,” he says, and his doe-like eyes are turned upwards with a crinkle of laughter. “Like I said before, you don’t need the formalities with me.”

“But you are a _god,_ I couldn’t just—”

“Else I will call you _dear sweet maiden_ forever, even in front of your parents,” he continues, now ankle-deep in the ocean.

“You wouldn’t even see my parents!” you yell out in frustration. “Fine then! Tooru!”—and you pray that lightning doesn’t suddenly strike you down at your spot—”Good night!”

As the waves dance around his legs, he turns to face you fully. For the first time, you see a genuine smile on his face, highlighted by the glow of the moon. Your breath catches in your throat, and it’s not just because of how he looked.

“Have a good night, (Name). Don’t miss me too much~”

The next moment, the waves rise higher and Tooru disappears beneath the surface of the sea, leaving behind only the sound of his realm and the distant hoot of an owl in your ears.

“I won’t miss you,” you whisper to the waters. “You are always right here, after all.”

Out in the distance, the water twinkles in the moonlight.

Later than night, you sleep with the breath of sea salt on your cheek.

* * *

The second side of the sea he shows you is the calm side through brief glimpses when he was alone. Every day you hid between the trees by the surf waiting for Tooru to appear, the drooping branches and the lush leaves providing you with some semblance of cover. When he emerged, a section of the waves would rise up high and his grand figure came forth. For a couple of seconds, you awaited with a bated breath, simply to admire how the sun gleamed on his skin. If it was early enough, sometimes his skin would glow a vibrant peach from the sun’s rising rays. Whether Tooru noticed you or not, he never let it show.

When you were with the god, your betrothal fled from your mind, as if Tooru had casted it away to the hidden depths of his sea. That was a divine power of his you were ever grateful for. Your mouth sometimes ran off on its own when you found yourself without things to talk about, desperately trying to get the god to stay for just a moment longer.

“I had expected you to be Apollo,” you confess to him one day as the two of you are lying down in the grass. Thick clouds pass by lazily overhead in the clear sky, without aim or destination. The sun’s rays are shining down, bringing you a warmth you’ve never experienced before.

“Apollo? He is but a child compared to me,” Tooru laughs, and something against your ribcage thuds harder than normal. “Always eager to run around in the sky with his head of orange hair. The boy never rests. What, did you want me to be Apollo?”

You had not heard him turn, but his face was suddenly a mere grass blade’s length away from yours, the scent of the sea mixed with the earth on him.

“Er—no, not particularly. I was just, uh, curious,” you reply, and you could feel your cheeks flush not just from the sun’s heat.

“Hmm.” His striking eyes continue to pierce you. “Why Apollo, of all gods?”

“He is known to be the god of the sun, music, healing, and well…” You wanted to look anywhere but his face, but there was nowhere else to look. “The model of… perfection... or something.”

“I think all of us gods are perfect, else we would not be gods,” he replies with a light chuckle.

“So us humans are not, because we are flawed?”

“I suppose. It could be due to the warm blood you have running in your veins—” he takes your hand and lightly traces a line running down your arm, the sensation a chilled touch you tense at. “Or how you cannot consume our food,” he continues, his smooth finger now on your cheek. “But even then, I think you humans still hold merit in your flaws.”

“Such as?” you ask, entranced by his gaze.

“You are all wonderful dreamers, aiming for our heavens, despite your limitations,” he replies. His hand leaves your cheek all too quickly and stretches upwards to hold the sun. “It is a beautiful thing to behold, all of your struggles against destiny.”

“And me as well?”

“Let’s see... You have beautiful eyes,” Tooru says with a genuine smile. There was no hint of trickery in his tone, only a pure simplicity you had not heard him use before. “I especially enjoy how they look in the light.”

“Uh, thank you,” you stammer out. “You, uh, have beautiful ones as well.”

Something like amusement flickers in his brown pools. You wondered what it would be like to dive in them. 

“I know that quite well already. But I appreciate your kindness.”

The something against your rib cage pounds even harder. You pray Tooru doesn’t hear the wild hammering it produced, but what could a prayer do when the god was right in front of you?

And then you realized, maybe you had already dove into his depths.

* * *

(The third side, he only showed you once. It was the sea roaring at the sailors, tossing their boats around helplessly in its waters, the one that monsters reared their heads in. The waves touched the clouds and crashed down with the force of a stampede of raging bulls, bringing no mercy to anybody.

“I will be going to war,” he had declared, the gentle chimes in his tone replaced by the grinding of rocks against a ship’s hull. The sky overhead was a dark gray, lightning threatening to strike at any moment. “I will be back in two month’s time.”

“Stay safe,” you said, but you’re not exactly sure how a god would do so.

He looks at you for a fleeting second, expression unreadable. Without another word, he dove back into the sea, leaving only ripples behind.)

* * *

When Tooru came back, autumn had announced its presence over the earth, turning the foliage into shades of gold. You had not dared to ask him how the war went as he showed you the fourth side of the sea: one teeming with life and vigor, the one that all sorts of animals made their habitat in.

But Tooru’s appearances started lessening as the days grew colder. When he came ashore, he no longer brought the warmth of a sun-baked sea, rather the icy chill of the depths.

Despite the chill, sometimes at night, the two of you laid on the surf and watched the stars. He showed you the constellations and the stories woven in them: Cassiopeia, who had argued she was the most beautiful creature on the earth—”the sea nymphs I created are the perfect image of beauty”—forever upside down as her punishment, then of Heracles—”he killed the sea creature I had sent to Troy, what a brute—”

“Is it true, you drove him mad, so much so that he could not recognize his wife?” you asked meekly. Through his stories, you could catch a glimpse of the Tooru, rather than the Poseidon of the legends, something you treasured dearly, each a rare pearl.

“Of course. It was a suitable punishment,” Tooru replied, his finger tracing out Heracles’ silhouette. “Everybody agreed he needed to be shackled somehow.”

And Tooru talked about the gods, his family, like any other: one filled with petty squabbles and dramatic flairs, except their actions could affect an entire nation.

“Because there is no law that says the gods must be fair,” you echo his very first line. But the words don’t resonate well in your chest, so you add on, “Couldn’t you have been a little more… lenient though?”

“Lenient? He ascended to Olympus as he died and now he lives with us as an immortal,” Tooru answered. In the deep recess of your mind, you briefly entertained with the thought of immortality. “Besides, some may say that to be alone on this earth would be the greatest grief of them all.”

 _Alone._ The word struck a chord deep within you. In the moments Tooru left, you could feel the absence of the sea on your skin, the gentle touch of his fingers all the more stronger. You were not alone in the world, but there were times when the feeling crept up on you during a sunny afternoon when Tooru wasn’t there, without any warning.

“Tell me about the time you competed with Athena for the title of Athens’ protector,” you decide to say, locking your feelings away.

“What kind of conversation point is that? I completely lost to her,” he scowls, sticking out his tongue.

“But if she is the goddess of wisdom, you had to have known she would’ve crafted a plan better than yours, right?” you ask, hoping you treaded lightly enough.

To your surprise a grin appears on his face, unlike any you’ve seen before—one that looked on the border of human and beast, driven by a primordial emotion.

“She may be the goddess of wisdom and all, but I still have a thing called _pride_ , you see. My brother calls it worthless, but I think it’s one of my greatest strengths.”

You learn to not ask any questions in that manner again.

* * *

Some days later, the two of you are back in the grove again. Under the guise of wanting to show him the full splendor of the red trees, you drop the question that had been burning your tongue.

“Tooru,” you ask. “What’s it like to be in love?”

“Where is this question coming from?”

You carefully make your way across the stones set in the river, grabbing onto a drooping branch as you do. Somewhere in the distance, a bird is chirping. “The date is three months from now.”

Even divine powers could not completely wash away your troubles, it seems. Your parents were hurriedly preparing for a dowry already, faces turning to stone. For your happiness, they looked anything but happy about it.

“Love is a wondrous, beautiful thing that will destroy your body and soul, leaving behind nothing but—”

“Tooru. Please,” you turn to face him, exasperated. The slanting afternoon light filtering through the trees twinkles in his eyes.

“I am simply quoting the words that your great orators have spoken,” he replies, taking a step closer to you. “You humans have weaved such beauty into such an emotion.”

For no reason in particular, your pulse jumps. He has looked at you like this countless times, but something about today is different, how his gaze smolders more than usual.

“I can understand how love could destroy your soul, but how does it destroy a body?” you reply, the words breathy on your tongue.

He takes another step closer. The ocean’s scent wafts to your nose, mixed in with an unknown sweetness, not too strong, not too weak either. _Ambrosia, it must be_. “That is something I’m afraid your little poets could not put into words.”

Your mouth runs dry as your face moves infinitesimally closer, those brown eyes of his coming closer into view. A lock of hair swoops down on his forehead, like the delicate curve of a pheasant’s wing.

“Then would you show me what it’s like?” Your words are now a mere whisper.

“A daring question you pose,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek with his slender fingers. It was velvet to your cheek, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself from completely melting into it. “Would you like me to do so?”

He is waiting for your response, in those bits of gold that you had come to be endearingly familiar with.

You shift forward some more and your lips crash onto his all in one motion like the crashing of waves onto jagged rocks. Your hands find comfort in his soft hair, the finest strands of silk. His hands travel down and rest on your shoulders and you shudder at the touch, at the sparks that flew forth from your lips, at the sweetness that drips down your throat.

Just like that, your worries and troubles are washed away from your mind.

 _Dear gods,_ you think. _Let this not be a sin for me._

“It is what it is,” a voice whispers back.

* * *

And then winter finally came, stripping everything bare.

Tooru’s long hours turned into mere moments, his skin frozen and eyes cold. You hoped your small body heat could at least provide some semblance of warmth for the god. On the days he didn’t come, you waited at the beach for as long as you could, sometimes walking up and down the surf, sometimes calling his name, but only the small white crabs skittling back-and-forth answered. Sometimes you’d sneak out late at night, in hopes to see him emerge from the waves and tell you how much he missed you.

A week passed just like that in longing for the god. Some people must’ve thought you out of your mind if they had heard what you were doing—and whispers were abound, but you didn’t mind any of it. Tooru was your religion, and not just as a Greek.

This morning, you waited behind the now bare olive tree, the silver sky smudged with streaks of pink and orange. To your delight, the waves rose high once again, forming a tall column in the sea. The god steps forth, his pale skin still holding a luminous sheen despite the absence of the sun.

“Tooru!” you call out immediately, running to greet him. The waves were a shock of cold to your feet, but you barely registered it. “I missed you!” You jump into his arms, clinging onto him tightly.

“Of course you did,” he teases, immediately setting you down on the surf. “I’m afraid I won’t be staying for long today though.” His voice sounded more like the cold winds up north.

“I’ve wanted to ask you something for a while now,” you begin. You didn’t care if your face was flushed a bright shade of red, or if he could hear how loud your heartbeat was—they were all for him, and would only ever be for him.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Can you make me a god?”

For several seconds, only the sound of the ocean pushing and receding hangs in the winter air, but even though the water is right in front of you, it sounded like holding a shell to your ear—muffled and distant.

“And why would you want that?” he asks calmly. The wind blows stronger.

“If I was a god, I wouldn’t have to wait so long for you to come! We could spend our days together in your palace—”

“You do not understand, do you?” Tooru’s voice cuts in like a blade. You look into his eyes, but rather than the sweet honey, you’re only met with the surface of rocks.

With trembling lips, you ask, “Understand what?”

“Humans cannot be gods.”

“But Heracles—”

“Heracles has the blood of Zeus running in him. You are wholly human, and it is weaved in your destiny to be a human until you die. You cannot be one of us, no matter how much you asked or tried to do so,” he explains patiently, as if talking to a child.

“Is it so wrong to want to spend more time with the person I love?” you cry out. “You don’t even come here as often anymore! What else am I supposed to do?”

“You do not love me. You just used me to forget about your betrothal.”

“And who was the one leading me on? You cannot deny your fault here!”

A cold, unforgiving smile forms on his lips.

Then it hits you again: _There is no law that says the gods must be fair._

And finally, you understood the full effect of what those words meant.

“As human as I may look, as much as you may call me Tooru, I am still Poseidon.” He leans closer to your face and you shrink away as the smell of salt overpowers your nose.

“In truth, I envy you mortals. You are all beautiful creatures because you are doomed in your own fights. One day, you will succumb to death, so you dream of elaborate ways to avoid it. But it is not death that is sad, it is living for eternity. Have you ever thought of that?”

“But”—you swallow down a large lump in your throat—”is it not love that makes an eternity endurable?”

“Love?” He laughs, and the frigid winds turn into the howls of a snowstorm. “That is the most human emotion of them all, and you dare apply it to us gods? What a foolish thing you are. Eternity isn’t something your brain will ever be able to comprehend, because your eternity ends at death. You all will never be here on this earth again.”

And there he showed you the fifth side of the sea: the cruel and unforgiving one that appeared when sailors forgot their sacrifices to him, the one that offered no hope to the passengers, the one where all things died a forgotten death in its icy waters. This side washed away your hopes, smothered your dreams, and snatched away your desires, leaving behind nothing but the dull reality of the gray sky, all in an instant so fast it was over before you realized it.

Something inside you snaps. You’re not sure what it is, but something important that could not be so easily fixed snapped.

Tooru— _Poseidon_ was right; you had used him to forget about the betrothal. But was that wrong of you? To run away? You didn’t know how to fight against the Fates, but you at least had a pair of legs to use. Or maybe this too was predetermined—those three sisters wanted to entertain themselves in their dark cavern, endlessly spinning away, and you happened to be the poor sacrificial lamb that was chosen.

You just wanted to know what it was like to run. But you unfortunately fell in love with a god during the process.

“Then,” you say, struggling to keep your voice even. “Please don’t act like you know me, or my feelings towards you, if you say you don’t understand what a human feels.”

You’re not sure when, but tears had started forming at the corners of your eyes. You blink rapidly to keep them out.

“I do love you—there is no other word to describe how I feel. But it seems that’s besides the point now.”

Your eyes meet his. He’s wearing the same emotionless gaze he used when he first looked upon you, when he went off to the war. An expression devoid of any humanity, a smooth, blank slate, betraying nothing of what lies underneath. Or maybe there was nothing there to begin with.

“Well then, I wish you the best in your future, (Name),” he replies smoothly. “It was beautiful, seeing your struggle.”

Without another word, he dives into the sea, leaving behind nothing but the smell of the ocean and your hollow shell.

 _Anywhere but here, anywhere but the sea,_ you thought.

So you ran, ran so far away to get away from that smell. It was too strong, it was too overbearing, it was too much. The only sight in front of your eyes is the barren land, devoid of any color. Your feet fly on the dirt and trip over rocks, but you didn’t care. _Anywhere but here, anywhere but the sea._

As tears streamed past your cheeks, the sun rose once again in the sky.

* * *

Everything was back in order, just as destiny dictated.

The date for your departure to the kingdom came just like any other day, right before the start of the new year. Your parents and friends shedded tears as you boarded the boat, but none came from yours. The smell of salt once again enters your nose.

“It’s a bright and beautiful day for traveling! I reckon I haven’t seen seas this calm in months, you must be blessed!” The captain greets you with hearty cheer. “We’ll get you to your groom in no time!”

You offer a bleak smile in return. Of course Poseidon would ensure your safe travels, the smooth sea your curse. The sun is shining down, but you found no warmth in its rays. Your eyes are trained straight upwards at the sky. A single cloud rolls by as the boat starts to move. Once the boat landed at the port, you would become a wife, carrying out your duties. You’d remain faithful to your husband, bear him children, and he would take in a mistress. When the king of their land died, you and your husband would become the next to rule, and then the two of you would continue the cycle.

Because that was your destiny.

You close your eyes. But in the darkness, all you could see was the vast sea, stretching out to the edges of the world.

 _I hate you,_ you whispered to it. 

_I know,_ it whispered back for the last time.

And all was silent again.

As it always has.

As it will always be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> balancing a more "godly" version version with oikawa's personality was a bit difficult but i think it turned out decent enough. thanks for reading!


	9. loveless in tokyo (bokuto koutarou)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One evening at a bar, Bokuto decides he'll fall in love with the first person that walks in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1980s au. tw: mature content scattered throughout (mostly murder, death, drinking), but nothing graphic. inspiration taken from "chungking express" dir. wong-kar wai.

Two centimeters.

That was how close Bokuto got to her during their first meeting, the distance that separated their bodies. 

At the time, the two didn’t know each other, not even a name or a voice. Bokuto certainly didn’t know he’d fall in love with her just a couple weeks later either. But that’s beside the point for now—he had much more pressing matters to deal with.

“Kuroo! Get the other side! We’ll catch ‘em in a pincer!”

“Got it!”

The two men barreled straight into the crowded alleyway, pushing past the flocks of bodies in the way. Neon lights streak by as Bokuto leaps across a puddle, then comes back down, not slowing his pace. The culprit’s coat flutters behind as he continues to dodge and weave through the crowd. Despite the pretty heavy injury on his left leg, the man could still run pretty fast. Blood trails down, splattering on the rain-slicked pavement.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere!” Bokuto yells out, picking up his speed. A group of people try to get in his way but he charges right through, gritting his teeth.

That was when the distance between him and the woman was just two centimeters, spanning the timeframe of a camera shutter. She’s dressed in an olive trench coat, wearing round sunglasses. Why she’s wearing sunglasses at night, nobody bothered to ask, and Bokuto most certainly didn’t either, not even noticing her presence.

Back to the chase.

The culprit leads him through a maze-like path, the stench of rotting garbage permanent in the air. People flitted in and out of the shadows like puffs of cigarette smoke. The streetlamps light the dark path dimly, blinking every once in a while. They run up a slope into an even more cramped path. Bokuto picks up the pace just a little bit more, practically flying in his shoes.

Finally, the culprit trips.

And that brief second was all Bokuto needed.

He reaches out and grabs a hold of the culprit’s shirt, yanking him backwards. The man turns around and tries to pry off his grip, but Bokuto pins him down onto the ground. A slew of thrashing and obscenities fly out, Bokuto successfully dodging it all.

“Oh, you got him already?” Kuroo’s voice calls out. Bokuto looks up from his spot, seeing the dark-haired man slightly out of breath, his deep red tie in his hand and shirt unbuttoned halfway.

“Kuroo! You’re late!” he pouts. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry, sorry. But looks like you’ve got it already under control.” Kuroo nods to the man wriggling under Bokuto’s grasp like a worm.

“Get—off—of—me!” he yells. “You big oaf!”

“Not so easy there, fella. You’re comin’ with us to the station on charges of thievery, arson, assault, robbery… Wait. That’s the same thing as thievery, isn’t it?” He tilts his head in thought. “Anyways! You’ve got a lotta cases stacked up on you!”

“Who the fuck are you anyways, doin’ the police’s work like a dog?” the man snarls.

“What was that? We’re a private detective—”

“Bokuto-san. That’s enough. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” a third voice cuts in, betraying no emotion. Another dark-haired man steps out from the shadows. His face, permanently in a mildly annoyed expression, comes to light. “Our job here is done.” He nods to the group of men running their way up the street, all in uniform.

“Bleh, they always take the fun,” Bokuto replies, blowing a raspberry. The man continues to struggle underneath his grasp, but his efforts are futile. “I wanna make an arrest too!”

“Nothing’s stopping you from joining them,” Kuroo says. “They could probably use the extra hands too.”

“But being a vigilante is cooler!”

“Since when were we vigilantes?”

The head of the police squad, a man with close-cropped hair approaches them. “Thanks for the help, it’s much appreciated.” Two men from behind him walk out, one with a pair of handcuffs, and approach the culprit on the ground. Bokuto releases his grip, grabbing the man by his collar and practically shoves him forward.

“No problem! Pleasure doin’ business with you,” Bokuto says, dusting off his pants. “Call us next time you need assistance! We can give you a discount too!”

“Please don’t listen to a word this man is saying, Sawamura-san.” Kuroo grabs Bokuto’s arm firmly and starts making their way down the road again, Akaashi trailing behind. “We’ll send you the invoice by tonight! Have a nice one.”

* * *

For all intents and purposes, (Name) is a killer.

There’s many names people call her—freelancer, mercenary, assassin, self-governed, maybe even an expletive depending on who you asked. But “killer” is the one she uses because it fits the best. No matter how much you tried to cover it up with a fancy word (or a vulgar one), the job’s all the same. 

Her closest friend is a Bowie knife. This friend she kept in its sheath at her side. Old-fashioned of her, but it gets the job done. Not that she really needs the knife in the first place, but with how long she’s used it, she keeps it out of habit.

Old-fashioned—this term was probably the best someone could use to describe her. An old-fashioned killer, if that has any meaning. Her apartment, on the third floor of a nondescript complex in Jiyugaoka, looked more like a place to sleep rather than a home. Futon on the floor, a kitchen and bathroom stocked with only the essentials. A closet with plain clothes. Her everyday outfit is a blue _yukata_. To her, it’s just another habit, despite the more-often-than-not strange looks thrown her way. 

Maybe because of her lifestyle, (Name) didn’t have many friends. She found more than enough ways to pass time in solitude. Some say freedom was living however the hell they wanted. This happened to be (Name)’s way.

(But what was living freely anyways? Once you escaped from the cage, only a larger one would come next. Could one ever be truly free?)

And of course, nobody would say “Hi, I’m an old-fashioned killer” as their introduction, unless they wanted to be a complete outcast or arrested.

Instead, (Name) says, “Hello, I’m here to take you to paradise.”

Just kidding—they only do that in movies.

This is how that day’s events really went:

(Name) enters the gambling house, wearing her typical outfit. It’s a secluded building located in some back alleyway where all types of people came to hang out, some playing cards at the table, some eating a quick bite with their buddies, some getting tattoos done. The neon green light that shines down is hazy in the smoke of fried food.

She takes off her sunglasses.

And then her Other eyes open.

* * *

  
  


As much as Bokuto preached about being a vigilante, the life of a private investigator wasn’t all that glorious nor mysterious. 

In fact, most of the jobs they got usually were tangled with a divorce affair—catch the other party in an act of adultery and get the money. Those were usually for Akaashi. Sometimes they were employed by the police to help catch a particularly slippery criminal. Those were usually for him. Everything else was split up between Kuroo and Tsukishima (though the blond was a part-timer mildly coerced into the position, so his jobs weren’t that much).

“I wish something would explode right now,” Bokuto remarks one day at the office, flopped across the couch. 

“What?” Kuroo looks up from his newspaper with a raised eyebrow. He’s sitting at his black desk, which he liked to call the “president’s desk”, specially reserved for him. “Don’t say that, what if something actually did?”

“Then we could rush over and get on the case, like in those detective movies! We haven’t had anything fun like that in a long time! I don’t even remember it!"

As their agency is relatively new, they’ve only had a couple of cases scattered here and there. All four helped out—with varying effectiveness-—though it was mostly just gathering evidence.

“You never remember anything, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says with a small sigh, at his desk doing paperwork (he handled communications as well). “Like the time you were supposed to—”

“Akaashi. If I don’t remember it, there is no need for me to do so,” he says in a mockingly deep voice. “I’m really bored right now!” Bokuto declares, sitting upright on the couch. 

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Wanna go compete in the Olympics then?” He shakes his newspaper. “They’re holding them soon. Seoul, this time around.”

“Ooh, the Olympics!” His eyes twinkle. “Maybe I should join a team…”

“Please give up that thought,” says Akaashi curtly, shutting down the notion as swiftly as it came. “We do have our job here to do.”

“I know, I know! It was just an idea!”

The phone on Kuroo’s desk rings, interrupting the chatter. Kuroo picks it up after the third ring, expecting another wrong number call. 

“You’ve reached the Fukurone Investigation Agency, how can I help you?” he drawls, leaning back against his chair. Bokuto listens intently to hear snippets of the conversation.

“Yes… Yes, we can most certainly do that…” Kuroo slowly leans upright, and Bokuto’s eyes don’t blink, watching his every move. “I can send one of our employers to pick up the information as soon as possible… yes, 2:30 by latest… understood. Thank you for choosing us. We will be sure to handle this with utmost priority.” He hangs up, placing the phone back on the receiver and looks around the office with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Boys, we’ve got a case on our hands today,” Kuroo announces with a grin. “Akaashi, go down to the station and ask for Sawamura again, he’ll give you the details.” 

Akaashi gives him a nod and heads to the door, putting on his jacket and dress shoes.

“Aw, why can’t I go?” Bokuto pouts. “You never send me!”

“That’s because you’d just mess up the negotiations. Besides, you and I will be doing the evidence-collecting this time.” Kuroo resumes his newspaper reading, flipping the page. “Get ready to head out as soon as Akaashi comes back. From the sounds of it, this one’s gonna be a tough one to crack.”

* * *

When it’s all over, (Name) stands alone.

The green walls are now decorated with red splatters; tables, chairs, and glasses strewn all over the place. The light fixture overhead is swinging wildly, cracks visible in its frame. And of course, the body parts littered on the floor. Mangled, twisted, severed.

Her Other eyes are closed. She sheathes her knife. A couple of unimportant members had gotten away, but her job here is done. Without much care to the bloody mess on the ground, she walks to the back exit. The stench of blood is still strong on her body, so before exiting, she first puts on an olive trench coat in her bag.

Once she walks outside, the hazy musk of smoke, trash, and beer hits her nose. (Name)’s used to it all by now. She walks down the cramped alleyway lit up by colorful flashing signs, weaving through the late-night crowd, trying to find the nearest payphone. Two men rush past her in quick succession, though she pays them no attention. 

At the end of the street, she finds a glass cubicle, shining like a lighthouse in the darkness of the night. (Name) opens the door, inserts a couple coins, and dials the number mechanically. This too, was another routine, despite the possible chance of her being caught.

“It’s done now,” she reports, as soon as the receiver picks up.

“Good work,” comes the chirpy response. Saeko, as she was the only one that picked up the phone. “The dowager will be pleased to hear it. Everything went alright?”

“A couple got away.”

She hears a short sigh. “And you didn’t think to be more thorough? They might come back to bite your ass.”

“The job was specifically to take out the top ones,” (Name) says, monotony strong in her tone. “Everybody else was just extra. Police or whatever will deal with them.”

“I know I know, I’m just pulling with you.” There’s a bit of a pause as Saeko chuckles, (Name)’s not sure at what. “We really do appreciate it.”

“I know,” she echoes, staring absentmindedly at the numbers on the dial. “You tell me that every time.”

Saeko completely ignores her snide remark. “Say, what are you doing after this?”

“Why are you interested?” It’s (Name)’s turn to sigh. “Go hit up a bar. Go back home and sleep. Stop by where you are tomorrow morning. Just like always.”

“The one in Ginza?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll never understand why you go there. Alcohol over there’s craaazy expensive and for what? Damn bartenders always look like they have a stick permanently shoved up in their asses too,” Saeko rants. As a woman who loved the fervor of bass-boosted music and the throngs of an eternally-dancing crowd, Shinjuku 2-chome was her place to go.

“There’s not that many people there,” says (Name) with a much calmer tone. Or maybe it’s the lethargy now setting in. “Nice and peaceful.”

“You’re really a weird one. It’s not good to be alone for so long, you know.”

(Name)’s fingers play with the phone cord at this line. Saeko was always pressing boundaries more than she liked; though she knew it was mostly just out of the older woman’s concern. But things like this were too heavy, too important to talk about in a telephone booth after dark, with not a single soul in sight.

“I’ll be fine,” says (Name), though without much enthusiasm nor reassurance. “I don’t see why there’s a reason to change. I’m going now. Bye.”

Without another word, she hangs up. Outside the glass box, the glow of the moon shines high in the night sky. Was it already this late?

(Name) exits the booth, the air feeling just a bit colder than normal.  
  


* * *

  
  


The two didn’t do such a good job gathering evidence.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” Bokuto whines. Underneath the summer sun, his forehead was forming large beads of sweat and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, exposing his toned biceps. There were a couple of people (women, mostly) that stopped to stare at the duo, though they didn’t pay them any attention.

“This is the place where she was last seen,” Kuroo responds, looking at the broken-down sign at the front of the building. “Eyewitness reports said they saw a woman enter this building late at night. Nobody knows what happened afterwards, but you don’t need to be a detective to know she did the whole mess in there.”

In the daytime, the alleyway was busy with suit-clad people rushing to-and-fro to their destinations. Somewhere behind them, a street musician is playing a forgettable cover on a guitar. If one listened closely enough, they could hear the sounds of a protest, feet marching on the sun-baked pavement. All a stark contrast from the couple nights ago, as if reality changed as the sun rose.

“So... she was the one who shot down the guy we were chasing then?” Bokuto asks, curiously peering around the building.

“All speculation for now. But I’ve got a pretty solid hunch that was her,” Kuroo responds. “You can thank her for making your job easier.”

“Hey, you were supposed to be chasing too! And Akaashi, how did he show up afterwards?”

“He was right behind you, did you forget that already?”

“Oh.”

The two of them stare at the building in silence. 

“So what do we do now?” Bokuto asks, tilting his head to the side.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“Well, she disappeared right afterwards. Like a ghost. One with the crowd. I wouldn’t be surprised if you passed her when you were chasing the guy down, as that’s the only place I can think of she’d be headed to,” Kuroo explains as the two of them head inside the building.

The scene’s an absolute mess. The stench of dried blood clings on the walls and the two of them cover up their noses in response. The investigating party sent by the police must’ve already taken their leave, as the whole place is deserted. There’s not much else to see. Kuroo jots down some notes in his notepad.

“Isn’t our person doing a good thing though?” Bokuto asks out of the blue, once the two exit the building. The alleyway of the chase from last night is deserted underneath the sunlight. Bicycles propped up against the telephone poles, trash bags thrown out to be collected, and a stray cat walks past. Even the red-light district has to sleep.

“What do you mean?” Kuroo asks, a look of confusion on his features.

“Well, they didn’t even know that the guy we caught was part of this big organization, did they? And thanks to her, we don’t have to worry about them anymore. They did some pretty nasty stuff, didn’t they?”

“You’re a pretty naïve one, aren’t you?” Kuroo sighs. “You saw how that place looked. You can’t tell me somebody who would do something like _that_ has any moral obligations.”

“Does that make a difference though? What’s done has been done.” Bokuto shrugs, looking at a billboard in the distance. It’s advertising a vacation spot somewhere in Europe. He’d like to go with May, but then he remembers, so he brushes that thought aside. “And who knows, maybe some people were helping her?"

There’s a long silence that settles between the two before Kuroo answers.

“You don’t know about it, so I’m not gonna lecture you. But, back when I was still working in Investigation, there’s a secret division there.”

“Secret?”

“They don’t talk much about what goes on in there, since it sounds like a load of bullshit if you don’t experience it firsthand. Not meant for regular people like us.” Kuroo scratches his head, choosing his next words wisely.

“Well, all I’m saying is, it’s not just the cops trying to find her. There’s something special she has that’s got other sorts of people on her trail. But even then, murder’s still murder. Under the law, you get punished for it.” Kuroo lowers down into a squat, then pops back up again, stretching out his limbs. “People like you and me, we don’t have the privilege to decide whether it’s right or not.”

“You think?” Bokuto purses his lips. “We can still talk about it though.”

* * *

The end, despite all efforts to stop it, is inevitable.

It comes to all things, whether it’s accepted or not. Try as you might to run, it comes for you. Sometimes you see it coming from a mile away. Sometimes it hits you out of nowhere.

(Name)’s connections all have an expiration date too. Some last for a single night. Others last for months. The one with the dowager and Saeko have been the longest. 

She’s used to this.

And it’s easier this way. No need for the large, cinematic tears that rolled off cheeks with the dramatic confessions. You don’t even need a single reason: one morning, you wake up in the same bed as them. The next, they disappear, never to be heard from again.

Take tonight, for example.

(Name) enters the usual bar she frequents, a dingy one tucked in some corner of Ginza. At this time of hour, there’s no other customers. Coming from the jukebox are the strains of Coltrane. The bartender at the counter, who had been wiping glasses, notices her presence and immediately sets to work, serving her usual drink. She accepts it with a nod and the bartender goes over to the jukebox, punching in some numbers.

“Said it’s for you,” they say politely. “Paid in advance.”

The chords from a piano play out, and then Billie Holiday’s soulful voice comes in. One of their favorite artists, (Name) remembered vaguely.

“ _I’ll be seeing you_

 _In all the old familiar places_ ” 

(Name) lets out an exasperated sigh as she takes a long sip from her drink, eyes unfocused. With just those two lines, she understood that this one too was over now. Perhaps out of a thread of sentimentality, nostalgia, or even melancholy, she hears the song to its end.

It was the least she could do, after all.

Once the song finishes, the bartender offers no words of comfort nor solace, simply returning to whatever duties he was previously busy with. That was one of the nice things about the bars at Golden Gai: nobody ever prodded into your business unprovoked. Everybody put up invisible barriers; nobody stepped past them. That was the silent agreement everybody makes when they push past the heavy door.

In this silence, (Name) feels a slight pang in her chest. What Saeko had warned her about, most likely.

She takes another sip of her drink to push it down.  
  


* * *

  
  


Bokuto had a girlfriend.

He loved her dearly, with his whole heart.

“Hello? May, are you there?”

Bokuto could still clearly recall that night like it was yesterday. Her long hair was perfectly straight, falling over her parka. Her right leg crossed atop her left, tapping out some nonsensical beat. Dark eyes scanned her book as if devouring every last word in there. While Bokuto didn’t have a type, everything about this woman hit all the points for him.

“Who am I? Who are _you_? What are you doing at May’s place?”

It was an instant connection when they had met. Bokuto _knew_ she was The One, there was no way of denying it. A _zap_ of electricity coursed through his veins when he stumbled upon her. 

“What? You don’t know a May? Fujiwara May? Are you sure?”

Basically, love at first sight.

“Wrong number? But why would she go and change it?”

For four blissful years they were together and Bokuto could not have been any happier.

“ _Don’t ask me?_ Who else am I supposed to ask? You’re the one with May’s number!”

He loved and cared for her greatly, the flame never diminishing with each passing day.

“Wait! Don’t hang up—”

And May returned his love with the same vigor and passion, a gleeful smile on her face whenever they were together.

“Hello? This is Koutarou!... No no, I called for you, not for May! How have you been doing?... Me? I’m doing just fine!... Yeah, no worries! I’m letting May cool down!... Oh, you’re heading out soon? I won’t keep you for long then! Oh, but don’t tell May I called you, alright? That’s an absolute secret!”

So why did May break up with him?

“Hello, Kuroo? You still at the office?... Say, did May ever call the phone?... She didn’t? Are you absolutely sure about that?... What? No, I’m not drunk right now! Perfectly sober! Where am I? Outside Onigiri Miya’s… Like I said before, I’m not drunk! Agh, whatever!”

It didn’t make any sense.

Bokuto heaves a long sigh, his arm slamming into the wall. The phone dangles from the cord languidly, spinning around.

It’s been a month since _that_ day. The first week was rough as Bokuto turned into a mindless walking corpse. Only when Kuroo practically dragged the man to the Mukougaoka amusement park down in Kanagawa did he show some signs of life (a cocktail of equal parts sheer terror and thrill always does wonders).

Things were, for the most part, settled down now. But every now and then he’d get hit by a sudden bout of loneliness so deep, he knew only May could help him. It struck him at odd moments, moments he’d never see coming, but once they happened, he could do nothing about it.

“You should give up on her already,” somebody calls out. “Does you no good, brooding around.”

Bokuto turns around to face the voice: the owner of Onigiri Miya, currently wiping down the counter. The fluorescent white light shines down on the stand, casting a shadow over his face. Bokuto walks over with a pout, leaning against the rounded glass, encasing rows of the delicious rice balls.

“But I still love her,” he says sullenly. In front of him, the Tokyo evening crowd bustles underneath glowing signs, some with a destination, some wandering around. The roar of motorcycles come to life, speeding off to someplace unknown. In the far distance, the dark sky’s smudged with bits of orange at the horizon.

“And she doesn’t love you anymore. Best to just forget at this point. Booze, food, work, women, take your pick,” the owner says, unapologetically letting out a yawn. Business was probably on the slower side today. Bokuto always found it somewhat amusing that such a lethargic character could run an onigiri stand in the middle of a packed district.

“It’s not that easy though.” He crosses his arms, head lolling back as he stares at the blank ceiling. “How am I supposed to forget just like _that_?”

One minute, he was happy with May. The next, she disappeared with the wind. Bokuto had so many questions he wanted to ask, but deep down he knew he’d never get the chance to get the answers to them. Life was like that: filled with gaps and inconsistencies, never giving closure.

“‘Course it isn’t. Might take you a couple days, might take you a whole lifetime. But if you just sit around and wallow about in it, then it won’t ever happen. Applies to most things in life, honestly.” The owner starts packing up Bokuto’s regular order—three wrapped, three _yaki_ , and three chicken onigiri.

“I know that already,” Bokuto pouts with a sigh. “Can’t I just be sad about it sometimes?”

“Sure you can,” the owner replies, handing him the order. “That’ll happen. Just don’t let it blind you from what’s out there in the world. It’s pretty big out there, after all. Here’s your order. Total’s 315 yen.”

Bokuto fishes out a couple bills from his pocket and slaps it on the counter. He starts to exit the stand—

“Hey, you’re a bit extra,” the owner calls out.

“Keep the change,” Bokuto says with a wave. “Thanks.”  
  


* * *

  
  


The next morning, (Name) goes over to the dowager’s house, located in an upscale neighborhood. They met in her greenhouse, where plants of all sorts of varieties bloomed. The hot and humid air was overbearingly thick as usual, a sensation (Name) could never get quite used to. Time always flowed at a different pace then the rest of the world in that tropical paradise, dictated by the pulse of the butterflies that fly around.

When she exits, Saeko is waiting outside, as usual. Outside in the real world, where the chill of the air hung permanently.

“Done with everything in there?” the blonde woman asks, leaning against the doorway. Today, she’s wearing her standard leather jacket, cream top, and bright red jeans, looking straight out of an underground fashion magazine.

“More or less,” (Name) replies.

“We did the right thing, y’know. Who knows what those crazy bastards would’ve done to their next victims.”

(Name) hums in response, pulling her jacket in tighter.

“Keh, still thinking about them makes me disgusted!” Saeko sticks out her tongue, crossing her arms. “All the evidence you could want piled up against them, but the cops never make a move! Bunch of useless prissies runnin’ around in their uniforms. It’s much easier to just let divine intervention take care of them all.”

“Divine intervention is awfully messy then.”

“Who’s fault is that?”

(Name) rolls her eyes. “I’m never caught though, aren’t I?”

“Hey, you were the one that brought it up,” Saeko says, putting up her hands. “I don’t know how you do it, honestly. Your eyes are really something else. I bet you could kill a god with them! How cool would that be?”

(Name) shrugs casually. “If I ever meet one, I’ll let you know if I do.”

Saeko lets out a loud laugh at this. From her pocket she takes out a lighter and a cigarette box. “Hey, you doing anything later today? Wanna come and see my taiko group’s performance?” she asks, while lighting a cigarette. The gray haze lazily disappears into the air.

And Saeko always asked this question every time she saw (Name). It was her way of trying to bond. _We gotta stick together in this world,_ Saeko always said. _Watch each other’s backs, because nobody else will._

It was a nice sentiment; truly.

“I’m busy,” (Name) lies, brushing past the woman. “Maybe next time.”

But truth be told, she just wasn’t _interested._ And she knew that if she ever did accept, that would include a trip to the (loud) nightlife districts later. So (Name) declines every time.

Before she starts walking back—

“Hey. Be careful out there, alright?” She says it casually, but (Name) knew enough to know it was a warning. “I checked the place the other day. Seems like they’ve got a couple on your trail now.”

“That so. Sounds like fun,” replies (Name) with a neutral face, not really paying attention. 

“Fun?” Saeko leets out a derisive snort. “Suit yourself, I guess.”

Their conversation ends there. Without another word, (Name) raises a hand in farewell.

* * *

  
  


Bokuto’s the type of person to keep his work life and his home life separate. His apartment that’s just a couple bus stops away from the office is just a bit too cramped to think right. It’s noisy at times, since the train’s also nearby, but he’s not one to care much about noise levels.

He stops by the FamilyMart a short walk away to stock up on dinner. A couple sandwiches, ramen cups, and a carton of milk are all shoved into his basket without much thought. He peruses the snack aisle, picking out a couple bags of chips and crackers for a late-night snack. 

“I’m home,” he calls out as he unlocks his door. The sound of his keys jingling brings over his dog.

This case, however, was special. He kicks off his shoes and takes a seat in his kitchen, reviewing the papers from today, kicking his legs up on the counter.

With Japan’s current state affairs, it’s impossibly hard to not have some sort of legal documentation. 

But this woman? Absolutely zero. Like a ghost, Kuroo had said. As if she didn’t exist in this reality. Her victims all had some sort of sexual assault or domestic abuse case in the past. Usually violent ones.

He takes a bite of the sandwich, mulling over the details. The area of the most recent murder had no security cameras installed anywhere, so tracing that was a bust. Eyewitness reports were also unreliable. The man who had gotten away from the scene was the only reason why they had knew the gender of the killer—but even then, he had mentioned how androgynous they looked, so that was also unclear. Tracking down the enemies of the organization was far too numerous, and their tiny agency had only so much power and influence. DNA profiling was still too tedious and relatively new. Kuroo had said something about it standing for _deoxyribonucleic acid—_ something that didn’t stick in Bokuto’s brain at all.

In short, this case was probably unsolvable. Something the cops had thrown onto them without much expectations. A crime of passion was probably what she’d be charged with, if she was ever found. Strong emphasis on the if.

Except, as Kuroo also said, there was no emotion in her killings. One might label it as psychotic from a distant glance. Upon closer look, they’d realize each and every cut was completely clean. There’s a method to its randomness.

Bokuto flips to the next page in the file. An autopsy report. The bodies themselves were absolutely normal, save for the cuts in places you wouldn’t normally expect them to be cut. The locations—the forearm, the inner thigh, the hands, all places where vital organs wouldn’t be damaged. Not even close to it.

But the cuts had to be the cause of the death. The victims were perfectly healthy otherwise, or their health problems couldn’t have explained their deaths.

There was no other explanation.

* * *

  
  


Things don’t go her way all the time.

Of all things, her next target has a gun. The lines of death she sees apply to all objects in the world, so killing the gun would be an easy matter. 

That, however, doesn’t mean she has the physical capabilities to do so. Bullets too, she could kill, if she got to them fast enough.

But this person’s gun is something new. Not some cheap pistol—a shiny revolver. Sure, gods can be killed, but you had to reach them first. 

Plus—who brings a knife to a gunfight?

She has to escape.

Her pursuers are hot on her trail. She starts speed walking, the labyrinth of alleyways trying to lead her astray. She reaches the main street and casts a quick glance around her. They break into a run, and she does too. Bright lights flash by in the street, emitting a cold, artificial light. Goosebumps form on her skin, but there’s no wind. She weaves through the late night crowd, trying to lose herself in the sea of people. They don’t give up.

A subway station comes into view. (Name) runs down the stairs. They follow. To her luck, a train’s doors are just about to close. She pushes forward, ignoring her legs screaming in pain, threatening to drag her down.

At the last second, she makes it on. The doors close behind her with a hiss. She turns around, her pursuers’ expressions twisting into a mix of frustration and anger. They start fading away as the train picks up speed, pulling out of the station.

(Name) heaves deep breaths. In, out. Repeat a couple times. The detached tone of the announcer comes on, saying the name of the next stop. The train’s headed in the opposite direction of her home. That’ll be fine, she thinks. She makes her way to a seat, every fiber of her muscle now exhausted, the adrenaline cooling down. A map near the door barely registers in her brain. There’s a stop that goes to Shinjuku. She’ll get off there and keep low for a while.

Her head leans against the window. Nobody is after her now, not even a single person nearby. The silence of the train chugs along the rails, and she wonders.

* * *

  
  


He’s always liked the time after dark.

There’s something to be said during the time after the last train leaves and before the first one arrives. A special time of night, where anything can happen. The convergence of all realities, all universes into one, for just a couple fleeting hours. During this time, people could cross the blurred boundaries of the worlds; meetings thought impossible made possible.

So one night at a bar, Bokuto decides he’ll fall in love with the first person that walks in.

He’s not sure why he thought of this idea. Maybe it was to forget about May for once and for all, like the owner suggested he do. Maybe it was because he wanted to just be filled up with so much love for one night. Maybe it was just the right thing to do. Maybe it was the wrong thing, and he was on the verge of breaking apart. Maybe he’s just in the mood for it.

Either way, this is the resolution he’s made for himself tonight, as he takes a long sip from his glass of whiskey. The bartender’s chatting politely with some customers seated a couple stools away from him, all words that would soon be forgotten.

And then she walks in.

More specifically, the (new) love of Bokuto’s life.

And he’s caught quite the stunner, he thinks, despite her odd choice of clothing—a simple blue _yukata_ and round sunglasses. Old-fashioned, one might say. But he doesn’t mind.

The stranger takes a seat at an empty stool, still not taking off her sunglasses. The bartender comes over and she orders a drink. Her shoulders are somewhat raised and she scans her surroundings with the slightest head turns. Perhaps looking for—or escaping from—somebody.

He stands up and confidently walks over, taking a seat right next to her.

“Hey there. How are you doing?” he asks. “Lookin’ pretty lonely for somebody as pretty as yourself.”

She lets out a small sigh, her glass idly swirling in her hand. Perhaps she was tired. “I’m not in the mood to talk right now,” she says curtly.

“Aw, don’t be like that! Striking up a conversation at a bar isn’t anything stressful!” he replies, supporting his chin with his hand. “Do you mind if I sit here then?

The stranger leans back in her seat. “There are so many empty seats in here to choose from, yet why are you next to me?”

“Because you look like you could use somebody to sit next to you.”

The stranger doesn’t reply. Doesn’t even give him a glance. But Bokuto takes this as a sign to continue.

“You see, there’s three reasons why a woman would wear sunglasses,” he begins, a small smile forming on his face. “One, she’s blind. Two, she’s a poseur and wants to look cool. Or three, she just got jilted and doesn’t want the world to see she’s crying.”

She tilts her head back, lifting her gaze to the ceiling. “And what do you take me for?”

“The third!” is his immediate response as he sets down his drink.

Her mouth twitches upwards. Bokuto thinks he’s caught her.

“But don’t worry about it,” he continues, his smile stretching into a grin. “Things like that happen all the time. I’ve been there before! Somebody told me that whenever I felt like crying, I should go out for a jog to work up a sweat. And then you don’t feel like crying anymore! Why don’t you try it?”

“I’ve been running for a whole night,” she cuts in with a monotonous tone. “I’m exhausted. I don’t feel like running right now.”  
  


* * *

  
  


(Name)’s not sure why she says this. 

It’s not in her nature to reveal things. Her drink isn’t that strong either.

But still, she says it, and she can’t take it back. Her tongue pokes her cheek and she tries her best to draw a composed look on her face, acting like nothing’s wrong, as if some half hour ago she wasn’t running away from a syndicate.

Then again, her conversation partner doesn’t seem to be all that bright. She’s not a hunter here, nor is there prey to be found. Maybe it’s okay for her to relax just a smidge. 

“If you want to find somebody else to talk to,” she continues, bringing her glass to her lips. “Please find somebody else. There are plenty of people here in this bar."

The stranger next to her pauses, if only for a bit. “I’m not really looking to talk,” he says, dropping his voice a couple decibels lower. His golden eyes don’t leave her face. “I know how it feels to get your heart broken. Times like this, you need a shoulder you can cry on. I can even pretend to be your boyfriend if you want!” 

He beams, and (Name) can feel how bright it is without even looking at him. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she replies.

“And I don’t have a girlfriend! I actually just got dumped a month or so ago. There was absolutely no reason for it, either! So I want to know you better.”

“That’s impossible.”

The stranger cocks his head to the side. “I don’t think anything’s impossible, just nearly improbable! Then, how about you get to know me some more then? What kind of man do you like?”

(Name) pauses in her sip. She’s not sure why she gives such an inane question the time of the day (or night, rather). They’d forget about this conversation come morning and go their separate ways. Based on how the stranger’s dressed, she’d say he works in a business of some sort, with his button-down, tie, and slacks.

Can people really say they can understand others? People change in all sorts of manners. You can’t fit people into neat little boxes; they’d overflow.

“I don’t really have a type,” she says, leaning her hand against her chin. “Not one for romance in general.”

The man leans ever closer. “Really? With how you dress, I thought you’d be the pretty romantic type! Like you’re in some era not ours. Are you a time traveler, by any chance?”

(Name) gives a quick glance to her _yukata_. “This is simpler,” she says, swirling her glass in her hand. “No real reason behind it.”

“You’re like one of those samurai in a Kurosawa film! Do you have a sword at your side?”

If her sunglasses were off, the stranger might’ve noticed the way they froze up. Her muscles tense.

 _No,_ she tells herself. _There’s no reason to worry. It’s just a natural question_.

“Not that I’m aware of,” replies (Name).

“Really now? That sheath at your side isn’t something then?”

All of a sudden, a chill is brought to the cozy bar. Her body’s sprung like a coil, ready to leap at a moment’s notice. It was wrong of her to assume this man was simple—he too, had something predatory lurking in his depths. Or was she just too cautious, her instincts too weary?

Still, it wouldn’t take too much effort to cut his lines. All she had to do was make a couple discreet cuts, and the stranger would be done for.

“Something like what I have isn’t a sword.” She takes a long sip from her glass, trying to remain calm. “Nothing that dramatic. Just for self defense.”

But (Name)’s not the type to do indiscriminate killings. It would be a purely selfish act if she took away the life of this man. He’s the type of person to be sorely missed. The end comes for all, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t precious.

“You don’t trust the cops?”

“No.”

He lets out a burst of laughter at this, throwing his head back. (Name) winces a bit at how loud it is. “Wow, we think the same! My work gets me hired by them to help out time and time, but you’d think with how much funding they have, they wouldn’t need me at all!”

(Name)’s eyes flare wide. Had he known all this time who she was? What were the chances of running into the law on a random night? But there was no way this was premeditated—if they were keeping an eye out on her movements, they’d know she never went to this bar before. Pure coincidence it was then, for the two of them to meet. Was he one of the people Saeko had mentioned was on her tail?

Killing’s not an option, but she turns it over in her head, examines it curiously. Maybe an exception could be made, depending on how the rest of the night plays out.

She makes a sound of affirmation in response, trying to cut the conversation right there.

* * *

The more he’s talking to her, the more Bokuto falls in love.

He’s always been attracted to the outsiders, the loners, the outcasts. Opposites attract, after all. Kuroo once said that would be his fatal point, but he doesn’t mind. The way she takes a sip from her glass, her lips touching the rim; the way her sunglasses exude a certain kind of mysteriousness mixed with vulnerability, Bokuto’s entranced by all of it.

It wouldn’t be a lie to say Bokuto’s a bit inebriated right now—his vision is starting to blur, his words slurring, his brain running at half a second shorter.

But he also knows.

What this woman has done. Who she is.

A blue _yukata_ , sunglasses at night, a knife at her side—he’d be stupid to not know. It took him some time, but this stranger fit the culprit to an exact T.

What kind of luck is that?

So he tells her.

“You see—I’m actually currently in the midst of trying to capture a culprit right now. Pretty dangerous one, in my personal opinion. But I think what she does is cool, taking out the leaders. I've fallen in love with her too.”

The woman’s face makes an infinitesimally small shift to an expression he can’t really tell. She bites the bottom of her lip.

“The top can always be recycled,” she says. “And I didn’t know falling in love worked like that.”

He laughs, a bit longer than usual. “You think? I think falling in love can happen instantly. Love’s not something you can deny. You have to accept it happens.” Bokuto takes his glass and swirls it lazily in his hand, looking at the clear drink refracting the dim lighting. “But here’s my dilemma—can you help me out? Do I let the culprit go because I love her? Or do I catch her, hold onto her, because I love her?”

“Who knows,” she responds coolly. “Maybe you should let her decide. Since you love her and all.”

“Ooh, good idea!” His eyes sparkle. “I’ll take your word for it then.”

After finishing the last drop of whiskey, the woman sets her glass down. She rises from her seat, looking ethereal doing so. From her pocket, she takes out a couple bills and places it on the counter. Bokuto’s cheek rests on his hand, watching her every movement.

He’s always liked the time after dark. You never know what’s going to happen.

The same goes with love.

“Thanks for the conversation,” the woman says.

Bokuto’s vision blurs. The final thing he sees is the woman’s face, her sunglasses taken off.

 _You have really pretty eyes,_ he dimly thinks with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *reader is modeled off of ryougi shiki from kara no kyoukai if you were curious


End file.
